Latest items:

poetry

Satish Verma, 24 july 2021

With Apologia

Nothing other than,
he was hearing―
screams!

Nude was not au
naturel, like
a new born chick.

Half-mumbling,
half-clad,
he walked bare foot.

Giving away the
canvas, you are
blissfully happy.

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Satish Verma, 23 july 2021

Tends to droop,
the narcissus, after
shedding the tears.

Per minute, you
were drawing
a self-portrait.

In water,
your image splinters
in thousand names.

Holding the―
earth on your neck
where would you go?

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Satish Verma, 22 july 2021

Truth Hides Behind Sun

Let go the nightmares
and oneness,
and climb down the deep―
stairwell to find your image,
in seething rage of quiet water.

It was not very hot
to raise the fever of native pain
in your legs. The delicate
heights of golden peaks you
won, slumber― when you discover yourself.

Poem matters in black ink,
on white paper which bloats
in self praise. The world
trembles in earthquakes of sermons.
Fauna and flora are turning back.

Enough to snuf the guts.
You don't love the parting.

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Satish Verma, 21 july 2021

Like Buddha

Light of dawn.
Day begins with
blue memories.

I sweep―
the floor, of mind.
The palm stands witness.

Nightingale,
does not believe in
nihilism.

Don't get mad
at dragonfly.
It cannot stand still.

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Satish Verma, 20 july 2021

Portraits

I resent.
Will remain that
I am.

No fissures. Frozen
mind. I am not thinking.

Peeling off the day
layer by layer. Fear
refuses to cross the street.

Not becoming.
Not carrying any weight.
The journey collects only―
the names.

No peaks. Restraint
I say to dark. Light
was waiting.

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Satish Verma, 18 july 2021

No Criminality

Paying back the debt
of virility. A lame duck
hobbles on the moon.

As far as, you can,
travel on my body, to―
catch the boat.

River was on spate,
sinking the groves,
bushes and fireflies.

Don't walk on
the clouds. You will fall
violently, when it rains at night.

The globes rotate
the world. You come back
to the poles, from where
you started.

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Satish Verma, 17 july 2021

Night Night

Like a vampire,
night swoops down.
Temple bells ring.

I am happy―
not to invoke any god.
Crickets share my muse.

The tall minarets,
stand erect in dark.
Muezzin gives a call.

My friends long
dead, would come and
talk ceaselessly.

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Satish Verma, 16 july 2021

Not True

A pigeon
flutters, in my frail―
chest, ready to fly away.

The train does
not stop here. Why
do I keep standing?

A man dies in
a blizzard. You
need to pay for it?

What was the
hallucination? I
was living for a lie?

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Satish Verma, 15 july 2021

You Want To Be Born Again

In evening I need
to speak with my small voice
to fill my dreams with moon.

Buried alive in the brick―
wall, a frightened poem
wails.

I will meet you, my muse―
in your space, without any pang,
though the road has not ended.

Drinking the dark
wordplay with no qualms
at the virtual rise of doom.

The fireflies, with their
breasts aglow, were ready to conceive
the radical ultimate.

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Satish Verma, 14 july 2021

Morning Mist

A complex question―
it was. Why your
hands were trembling?

The body becomes
a kayak. You were sailing
alone in the lake of bluebells.

Elegy and epilogue
become one. I have come
to meet my humming bird.

Still suspended in
deathless space, the sun
wants to hide.

The revelation
was not to solve the enigma,
but to listen to inside.

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Latest items:

poetry

With Apologia

Adoration

Truth Hides Behind Sun

Like Buddha

Portraits

No Criminality

Night Night

Not True

You Want To Be Born Again

Morning Mist

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