* Voiceless


Crisp and tight, a parallel voice
of black stars talks to sky, protesting
the presence of ultimate outsider, when
everybody was a partner of collective
guilt in nightscape.

What was the center of fight in elite
members? The unhindered ego or claim
of bland crumbs of authority? The innocents
so many, on streets, surrounding a red
smudge, liberty, watching her personification, who
sleeps here!

Whom it burns? As the blood spurts
from the chest of a white stone.

• On the death of Neda Agha Soltan in Tehran on 20st June 09

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Profile photo of Satish Verma
Satish Verma is ferociously original. You feel resentment, outrage and violence, cannot pin it down but wonderfully spin your brain. Satish has the greatest sensibility which sweetly exploits the delicacies of human conflicts. You are taken aback. This is magic, profoundly soulful. In a lone, long journey Satish Verma is still discovering himself. Beaten, betrayed, felled, he comes back with fierce velocity. His childhood was traumatized by India’s partition. Terror, violence and death were witnessed which built the morals of poet. Becoming defiantly recluse Satish Verma pursued his value based life on the path of truth. Teaching Botany for 35 years he was writing poetry, privately and solemnly and published twelve collections. Worked silently with social causes. His scions, doctors and engineers are living in USA. He chose to live back in his beloved country and resides in Ajmer (INDIA) with his spouse Kanta running the Charitable Holistic Institute of SEWA MANDIR FOUNDATION. He can also be reached at kantasatish@gmail.com. 5-A ii, Mayoor Colony, Alwar Gate, Ajmer – 305007 INDIA Mobile +91 9829071468
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of
avatar
wpDiscuz

A Guardian In Your Eyes, A Thug In Their Eyes

A Guardian In Your Eyes, A Thug In Their Eyes long poem

My innocent little sister In your eyes You see me as a guardian Shining bright with a halo over my head Wings as pure as jade A mountain that doesn’t move Even when the earth shakes When the thunder strikes

#metoo

#metoo prose poem

I was scrolling through a few of the #MeToo posts on my timeline, when, I thought I’d bring a few questions clawing my mind, to the society’s attention – How could you throw the unassuming girl child to the ants,

Is This How You Love?

Is This How You Love? short poem

You have no problem leaving me behind. You can easily put me out of your mind. It’s like my presence puts you in a bind. I bet every time you see me you wish you were blind. You told me

The Prince, The King And The Master

The Prince, The King And The Master long poem

The shrine of Madonna stood tall, The high king’s rapier fell down, not anymore was he the young prince, for he was devoid of all feelings. The shrine of Madonna stood strong, The high king’s blood washed the ivory pedestal,

Who Was Me?

Who Was Me? short poem

A misbelief breaks into rags. Still I dream of some gods on black pages piecing together the words of light. The rains come in the cage of tears, voicelessly. Striated muscles of splintered faith go to cramps birthing the avatar