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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 6 september 2022

Stepping Down

You drop
Your body and become. "I"

Howling will rise
from spinal curvature.
Wolf was running in circles.

The carnivore would
never smell the roach.
He wants only the pith.

You snare a parakeet
to share the pain. "I" became
"You" in a trap. Still knowing the self,
was important.

I burn in your prayer.
I am the sea, and I was
the setting sun.

The mother poppy cries
for the family.
How the sky will cover
the orange moon?

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 3 september 2022

Untouching Smiles

Sitting on the border wall
and looking at the moon.
Back-and-forth,
Back-and-forth
China breaks in my dry eyes.

Clay into vitrified
ceramic asks for emigration
to the sea for final immersion,
to meet the creator.

I look for your face
in water, that haunts me
day and night. Would you ever
fill up the colors in the map of my pain?

More poems. How could you
stop them coming? My
every ache turns into a daffodil.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 2 september 2022

Bold Sentences

The migratory ache,
one day for you, one day for
me, or lunar storm.

*

The realm takes shape
of impossible metaphysics,
I shall leave your arm.

*

I want to become
what I was in wind, water
and flame. Hold my words.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 1 september 2022

You Have Arrived

Your poetry was
a hyphenated struggle
to become a blood stained city,
where I live to find
a Judas kiss.

No remorse, no panacea.
I don't feel the spark.
No belief tarnished in the
autistic approach of life.

You think the increasing
distance will heal the
hurts of cuddling under the moon
in flames?

What the numbers have
given to us. Hands have the
same fingers and thumbprints
were fake.

No mass wailing.
The wolves can laugh too.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 31 august 2022

End Race

Privy to my crypt
O paragon!
I turn around in my ashes.

And take a rebirth.
Inextinguishable
was my desire―

of gravid pain. Life
opens a new book of
unmeanings.

Will not call you by
any other name.
I will set you free today.

Through discreet,
stenosis. I will move
in your veins till eternity.

A pure kill―
I vibrate to
catch the last glimpse of the ocean.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 august 2022

Fireworks

The tiger in the woods
waits.
You play with blue tits
in backyard
hiding the insects.

I have become―
clean, absolutely empty
like a dry well.
Will you fill me with
brine?

You wear saffron
I go green.

Tell me how you dance
on the flames?

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 august 2022

Verged Into The Suicidal Art

Unnaming pro-lifers, I
was ready to imitate
the song of the ruins.

Rising like a phonex
from the spermaceti of flames,
a unisexual rage,
engulfs the smoke of burning homes.

I am painting you
black, O white god, your
devotees were coming in the nude.

Bend down angel; the eclectic
door was small and the beautiful
windows were closed.

No need to wait for
a lost moon. The godchild
had been laid to rest in scythe bed.

Come when you are
going to faint in the arms
of poems. I will stay for eternity.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 august 2022

Paper Wreaths

To understand the life
after the flames die, I will
meet you in conflict zone.
Do not come with a tag.

Marked for a kill
I overturn the dead body of a cobra
to find my image in the glazed
eyes. My willingness was gone.

In a loop, I do not want
to ask any questions. Cannot
you understand, what
I do not want to say?

The empty glass does
not lie. You did not climb
the silken hills to be in a mausoleum.
I will not make my tomb.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 august 2022

Face Mirror

Half your young age,
violence comes in choppers,
to avenge on the solemn moon―
for a long night.

It sucks, day and
night. The assassination
draws the blood tears, unwashed,
from the sunny plasma.

The crotch was saboteur.
Pure love had become
an echo of hemlock.
Your lips were blowing blue.

It was terrible trauma
of believing in your religion.
Truth will not rise―
from the dead.

The perfect U-turn.
A dead poem turns into
dew on your eyes.
I am singing again.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 august 2022

Like The Flames

To erase your subtle pangs.
You become ingrained in verses.

I will not speak―
a single word to come to terms
with the unknown.

But life extracts a price.
You must become a buddha―
and leave your princess.

You will not see―
the Apocalyse giving rise
to an opus. And my child
you cannot read my book.

The voiceless dumb
bell goes on ringing to send a
call for the faithful to come
and jump into the cauldron of moon.

I boil in the guilty sun.

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