Satish Verma, 27 march 2024
A crowd of clones
was picking up sleeveless
shirts from potter's field.
Strangely nobody knows,
who were you after the
last laugh of the destiny.
The passion takes
you towards burning ghat, where
ultimate truth was hanged.
Satish Verma, 26 march 2024
Sometime I want
to say to myself, why don't
you walk the ramp―
of burning Amazon.
The naveus was becoming
darker on moon.
You partition
the souls and then begin
climbing the rising sun.
Satish Verma, 25 march 2024
Like ghost particles
we came near each other
to generate sparks.
You would not read
what you had written on
my pulsating forehead.
I will wait for you
in timeless space for
your surrender on pyre.
Satish Verma, 24 march 2024
Pebbles in hand, nudge
to start talking about the life that
was going to throw the moon.
The oleander wears
the roses without thorns. But you
cannot keep the facts without blood.
Would you tell the truth?
What I think gets printed on your
face. The beginning resembles the end.
Satish Verma, 23 march 2024
I dig your secret
life, under wraps of clouds
amid sun and moon.
A chance to learn
the mystical Pythagorean
shift of love's angle.
Crypticarithmetic
peels of the pain from space
and time of body.
Satish Verma, 21 march 2024
A tragic turn.
Mid story bleeds. No one was
live to offer apology.
We are fond of
picking the rocks, falling from
sky of unknown god.
The distance increases
when you give a call in
valley of loud echoes.
Satish Verma, 19 march 2024
Do not, meditate.
Random words would take you
to beautiful soliloquy.
Truth decays when
it is not part of divine voice.
I will swim in your eyes.
The godly hands one day will
succeed to revive the
meaning of your life.
Satish Verma, 18 march 2024
Walls are suddenly
lit. Sun was getting ready
to set on spires.
Watching a pome
to fall from wisdom tree
to color your smile.
Goddess surrenders.
Eve commits suicide.
Adam quits home.
Satish Verma, 17 march 2024
The contours of
jutting bones refuse to
move. Poverty repeats.
Questions. Untouched
remains human behavior
of caged parrots.
Would you spare
some time to read lines
on the face of Sun?
Satish Verma, 16 march 2024
O moon, when I
stalk you, why do you
bleed the colors?
Calm down. Virginity
is out for lisping. Impaled,
the spirit ― starts dying.
Don't sell the body
of the poem. Can you ask
the songbird to stop?
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