Unmasked inside,
we play the games of a torch
the living legend,
great beauty of dirty thoughts.
A twin drama unfolds.
the icon burns and a wealth
of praise drowns the priest.
Now death dance begins.
Neither immersion nor
the float ends the relationship.
The hunger leaps
to death from top floor.
Life is ripped apart.
The swarm of vultures descends,
mating of news begins.
The anodyne is spread on the wounds.
Room to room,
the liquidation begins; of faces, of spots.
A cruel joke is repeated
every day relentlessly,
I wait for the transformation of beginning,
of the ending.
The light to fade and
god to taste like a hot bun.
The dangling doors must close,
for a while to motivate the dreams.
Satish Verma
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Reviews of "THE ANODYNE"
Reviewed by RWE SAYS BYE (Reader)
Reviewed on July 18, 2011
I hear you knocking on our doors of perception, but it's hard to read between these lines when the only light flickers to read by are the burning... but you could read my mind, now couldn't you?
I enjoyed this one, too, by the way... it went down with relish!
This book represents a thirty-day period of my poetry journal. Each poem addresses
the dominant thoughts occupying my mind during the early morning hours of a given
day.
Dear readers, this is my third book of poems, and inside are a special collection of what have turned out to be not only MY personal favorites, but also the favorites of many of YOU. Some of these have never been available in print before...
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I enjoyed this one, too, by the way... it went down with relish!
Roger