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FIRST WORDS

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Tie the knot with my mortgaged life –
I have started the self-descent.

Don’t leave me alone –
I have to unload some debts.
It was very disturbing. I have again forgotten
my alphabet and become illiterate.
Your consent is must
for starting a new journey.

I am neither afraid, nor worried
but fever is rising, like a flood
and ridge was collapsing.
The death was unknown to me –
it will come one day as a guest
and stay with me forever.

Times have rattled me enough
and sword hangs from the roof.
Why do I dream such?
The dichotomy between gold and lies
will start one day. I cannot go back
to my dilapidated house where I met the first words.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

GOLDEN VALLEY

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Blackened silence was holding the reflectivity,
reality was on the run.
Exile was complete.
Dark secrets, standing on head
remained buried in your chest
absorbing all colors of sun.

A night remembers the friends
who went over the hills one by one
to find the pugmarks of panther
that was killing your infant biographies.
The world stood bodyguard
not allowing any immortality.

Your speech was clear, but unheard
in terror of burnt-out principles.
New sleeping cells are coming up for a
metaphysical revolt. A heron was
stabbed by soaring kites
in the golden valley.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

GREEN VISION

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In a starry night
an adolescent thought starts
a rivalry. A baby moon squirms.
No hour was safe from terror in dark.
I climb the stairs breathlessly.

The great divide deepens in hearts.
Incisors bite the tongue,
grey cells bleed inside.
Thick ash has not stopped the cinders
smouldering under the veils of flushed peace.
Cupped tears wash the feet of death,
a caravan of words moves desolated,
cutting on the edges, before you say
goodbye to green vision.

Today I am pulling out the nails
from the walls. No hangings of departed centuries.
No portraits of exiled flames.
Only the face of truth, burning
at the interface of unthruths.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

FLAMES

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You went blank on the line
between sand and water,
between seizure and assault.
The tribes have unwrapped their torches,
they are coming in numbers.

Who was going on trial?
Fierce fidelity is demanding vendetta.
The drummer announces the fight.
Justice parts the lips for
peace against tragedy!

The golden voice caves in.
Time moves as a profane octopus –
suckers clasping on the vital stomata.
Green blood oozes from eyes.
The truce was transient.

Childless earth throws up the flames.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

CREATIVE SHAME

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Neglecting the presence of choiceless
pain, I became singular and I said
I would not allow the life
slip through my fingers.

Looking inside, beneath the rags
of awakening, makes you to rebel
against the decadent forgiveness.
Belief in dying was a reversed nightmare.

Till the arteries explode in the limbs.
A robot kindles the hope to walk
without a brain and I grieve for the
death of a nightingale in the woods.

I will knead the invisible universe,
roll it to the stone wall of conscience.
Age will undo the million dreams
behind the creative shame.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

BLACK MOON

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He made me move on the rough edges
to the abyss of ‘ I ’, persuasive, but strong
for a thrilled journey, on the snow-clad
relationship between disquietening
follicles of wants.

Completely alert, still drowning in fear
of abstract river, of fire, of nodal pain
of self-destruction. Suicide was below dignity.
This was annihilation of the present, past and future
in realm of faith versus asexual love of sin.

Only one moment was sufficient to disturb me,
between me and my flips, between captive
and captor. The quiet honing of silence
for breeding vowels and petals of narcissus.
Black moon, I always loved you.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

GLORIFIED DISCREETLY

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Living on margin he was deceived again.
A grasshopper was perched on door
shedding green pigment.

Granary was empty and he was,
worried about the health of nation.
Glare and splendor always hurt his eyes.

In the name of prosperity, leftovers
set the dirty houses apart
from polished faces.

He was again afraid of interior –
bursting with statements of elegance,
releasing the bald answers to nettled questions.

The stench was glorified discreetly,
giving a pause to sorrow.
Who was destroying the sweetness?

Submitted by Satish Verma.

BOWL WAS STILL EMPTY

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Trying to follow truth
his journey was nightmarish.
Alchemic fusion with past and future failed –
his bowl was still empty.

In the inner space
a largesse, free of present,
becomes the pain of perfection!
Now what to do next?

More afraid of life than death
he tried to manage the fear,
the futility of becoming somebody,
the nihility of ripening in celebrations.

In the darkness, an eye looks
beyond the stars, at timeless silences
of hope, waking, slits of dreams
like lasers, creating new designs.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

BURNT OUT WORDS

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Tryst with nano was like burning in hell.
Headless body of truth,
turning into invisible particles
flaunts an absent God.

The mist envelops a rag picker –
sleeping on the payment.
Hunger fresh grown will be served,
when sun rises.

Indelible ink an yellow pages
bearing the burden of unborn grief
inherits this globe, the ashes
of burnt out words.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

DEMOCRACY

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To slice a hope in stark terror
he thought to bid holy goodbye
to destiny, and let himself go
in the shadow of weeping deads.

The orange moon looked mutilated.
Quietly stood a suicide bomber,
ready to get killed for a home in white heaven
and destroying the leaping stars.

Who had the blood on the hands?
Hiding in the white gown,
crossing the shelter, to dropp the guilt
on the road, never to look back.

Century of oppression, like baked blood
shines on the coffins of martyrs.
At dawn the pariahs promise to lead
the band towards democracy.

Submitted by Satish Verma.