Life Poems - Page 4

EXPLOSION

Spitting the blood, he said,
every winter for few days –
he would feel outcast and there was
pain in the idea of pain, but he wanted to live
without a painkiller.

Sometimes he will singe his hands on a flame
to protect his dignity. The history of his
unrest remaining untold. Then he will go
out in rains of knowledge and soak himself
in mixed joy.

A lump in the throat hurts, when he
tries to decipher a dream to measure
the life. A liar knows the complete death
of a truth to assert his independent existence
in myth.

A deadly poison of the choosing,
your own microclimate, aggrandizement
of royal tradition, makes you popular in masses.
They surge to touch your gown, ripping
the explosion.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

Poet:
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LAST FLOWERS

A hero demands affection, the heat
for a surrogate role
of a saviour of oppressed.
Deafness increases
towards the integrity of a failed man.

To become something after impotence
with implicit metaphysical rags
worn in chains of blind silence.
It was all, molesting the parting hour,
or nothing, obscuring the pressing hope.

The game continues to bluff the speechless
for casting a spell on innocent vision.
Essence and rose want to separate,
no sensual dive in the sea of
silken love with blackened hands.

The other forehead has a smear of blood.
My fingers move in tender wrongs, you
did not deserve this cold night. Nothing
will happen to the vase. I
am plucking the last flowers.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

Poet:
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FOETICIDE

Ends did not meet, like beginnings,
fact was insulted by fiction:
the newborn stuns the God.
Drop by drop
life drips from ankles.

Desolation takes advantage,
forgets the path, becomes self-centered.
Dialect changes, to taste the foul
heritage,
cadaver breaks the glass jar.

Foeticide of a flute, overnight
the soft face becomes dark. Orange moon
floats like an empty boat.
Waves burn
for the sake of swollen lids of time.

The essence of lies weaves a theme
a skull rolls down on a slide
laughing like sin of omissions.
Night screams.
A hot sun glows from the window.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

Poet:
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BON VOYAGE

Absolute yes or no
makes you wish
not to understand philosophy
of semipermeable life.

Sort of, lies pass through,
truth is left behind.
The fingerprints don’t speak
the identity of runaway minutes.

Somewhere you fail miserably,
break the cushions
and lie on thorns
to feel the terror of time.

Where the birds have gone?
Trees have startled the sky.
The staircase is broken.
Bon voyage to blue eyes.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

Poet:
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BON VOYAGE

Absolute yes or no
makes you wish
not to understand philosophy
of semipermeable life.

Sort of, lies pass through,
truth is left behind.
The fingerprints don’t speak
the identity of runaway minutes.

Somewhere you fail miserably,
break the cushions
and lie on thorns
to feel the terror of time.

Where the birds have gone?
Trees have startled the sky.
The staircase is broken.
Bon voyage to blue eyes.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

Poet:
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CIRCLE OF GLORY

Pain unites the victims.
Discreetly, afterword, was the same.
Only loser helped you to die instantly
for the millions of stars.

The shadow was a terrorist
on the terrace.
Wounds were flying on erected dais,
the circle of glory was complete.

Over the dead nurseries
sun was kneading the earth,
for a graying sky
to bear the night.

A shameful retreat
of the weaver, of faked skin,
when body was stained with orange bruises
inviting the moon.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

Poet:
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LIKE A FIREBIRD

Like a whiff of pungent smoke
morality hurts.
The inner song dies
in chorus of sharp tongues.

Anger beats the wall
causes no beginning,
no ending.
A naked shadow burns.

The voice on the edge of truth
jumps in the dust of lies
like a firebird
bathes in immortal grief.

For deliverance from the depravity,
one who calls you a name.
How I longed to invoke
a time outside the space!

Submitted by Satish Verma.

Poet:
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FOUNTAIN

Revolting inwardly
the fountain chokes.
New year amputates
the fingers of a whole man.
History repeats a parallel.

He sets the house on fire.
Sky withdraws the light
till the queen of darkness sleeps
before the future unfolds.
Smell of burning flesh drifts.

This moment was for God
to wipe the sweat on frightened face.
Hair and bones hide in the urn
that was forgotten.
Death has mouthed a betrayal.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

Poet:
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GREEN EYES

Faith was not taking him
near the truth.
Staring at reason
his inner self became a burden
on the whispering road.

They were going to exhume
the body of the martyr
for finding the ethos of hope
invoking the afternoon sun
to guide them in dark.

So the blood had a terrible
celebration of alienation
generating the heat of hate
not for the proud mother
who was grieving.

Time will not forgive
for the murder of green eyes.
The masses are rising
like a turbulent sea
riding through the tears.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

Poet:
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CUP OF SORROW

A solitary moon rises
behind the seven veils
unattended by stars and clouds
between yes and no
desiring nothing
turns back through the centuries.

The religion to kill
refuses to stare at the tainted fatality
lying sprawled on the burdened earth
splattered red.
Criminal divinity of the blood
bares the undone creation.

Seed money comes again
into dead bubble.
Cup of sorrow is filled again.

Submitted by Satish Verma.

Poet:
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