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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 28 july 2019

Confronting The Unknown

I walk for a short while―
talking with the moon and
thinking about the zero―

and spirit and water― standing
my ground, I ask the earth―
tell me, whose fear was greater than mine.

If god was blind, then why
so many planets and moons? Is that true
that between good and bad lives a shaman?

There was something
behind the walls. A lot of noises coming―
out, as if nobody was perfect.

The realization itself was hurting.
The day I started sweating,
reaching the icy peaks of understanding.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 27 july 2019

Violence In A Cup

The winged sex of the
module/wants to stay naked.
Everything backs it up
to become a suicide bomber
on the beach.

A cactus will not bloom tonight.
A shirt was loaned to the
tortured torso without head and limbs.

She was possessed by a
black spirit of a squirrel,
which was killed by a hatchet.

Bit by bit a moth was eaten alive
by the ants. Only the dry wings
were clapping.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 july 2019

The Prairie Wool

The trapped body
will not listen to baby fugue.

The perception will find―
the writing on the flute.

For Neptune, the liquid
carries your voice.

The fugacity will find
the tongue of eternity.

The sea has divided
the land. Water sends the wreaths.

The future will keep an eye
on the scavenger, time.

There were signs. It was going
to become a predator.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 july 2019

Self-Effacement

Gender―
was becoming unborn, ―
untaught. Very fluid state.
You could transgress the boundaries
like the sea spreading over,
on your land.

My ankles giveaway. I cannot―
walk incognito. Moon will
not open the door. Nightshade welcomes
with open arms. A climber
with purple flower holds my hand.
I may stumble. Almost done―
disconnecting with present―
and past.

This is the sun. This is the
sky. Circumcising becomes an
escape, to cut off the bondage with yourself.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 july 2019

What Hospice

Becoming unsteady
at points of darkness.

Tinged with blue
I am ready for the unspoken departure.

How to reach out―
for a situation, which was not?

You sleep on the floor
to hear the earth’s agony.

A helix― surrounds the
imperfect creation of unsavory thoughts.

Abusive was the creator,
The evil had a beauty in destruction.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 july 2019

The Daphnia

The truth of my blood
at the mensal
without prayer and anguish.

Will you be able to
heal the rift between color
and smell?

The other face―
offering the tears in
cupped palm.

The slant eyes will
never know, the end of―
the day under the shadows.

The endemic fugue―
tilts the balance of angels.
The bay tree sends the condolence.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 july 2019

The Rarest Thing

The night watchman
has become an etcher.

The stoning of the shirt
must stop. These moments were the
real sinners/beating the moon.
A simple story becomes an epic.

The belly buttons start
stammering. Meaning did not take a bath.

Canaries have gone on a strike.
They will not sing on the edge of night.

An oil painting walks out of the canvas―
to become a parable.
The creator of this art
was done.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 july 2019

An Awakening

Profiling the flaws
after the ignition, starts
the outrage.

A stoic will assume a
secret. The mute testimony
against my naked walls.

Your gifts are lying unseen,
unused. I have gone, O tormentor―
beyond your reach.

When you would try
to annihilate the vision, I will
check the bleed of eyes.

If the bell rings;
somebody will arrange the table
for anaesthesia.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 july 2019

Cracked Open

Living my own way
like flint,
you will not read
my cosmology.

We two, keep quiet in―
the same book― I
want to read some
hidden message from you.

A day slips into night.
What a consumption of will.
The train stops at the terminus―
without a traveler.

Stepping out, from the
grave of body― you will throw
a reflection, of the nerves,
in a wreath.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 july 2019

The Benevolence

Borderless pain was
said untold. I am writing
a new chapter of night.

The somatic scent―
does not rise now, for the peaks
dissecting the snowy falls.

Racial climbdown
brings friction amids the uniqueness
of downtrodden dolls.

There was an intense―
urge to rip open the endless sky―
to find the secret of blackness.

The fabled light,
fails to distinguish between
eyes and ears. A blind man

will not find the shape
of truth by noises.

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