Latest items:

poetry

Satish Verma, 12 june 2019

The Dancing Tale

I do not remain happy
with noises of wisdom.
Time was running out on me
to know myself.

No sensory cognizance. I
touch you with my invisible
hands, stroking the hair
to dislodge the moon.

Ashes lay strewn. River
was overflowing from the
banks of limbs. I will not
come near the unfathomable

depth of a chasm, between
good and bad. Out of the bed
of roses a snake uncoils.
Praise the dark. It in night.

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Satish Verma, 10 june 2019

Unbegotten

Shedding the knowledge
I was aware of emptiness,
that will allow me
to watch from afar―

the message coming from
the locked doors.
Getting nearer the gorge
you want to look at your spitting image―

in water. I hinge an old frame
to find me in baby face. Did you
see your future visits to
cauldron of life?

You never wanted to become
a god of wayfarers. A tinge
of stupidity was evident to renew
your faults to remain human.

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Satish Verma, 9 june 2019

Rising Rage

After the blast, the
morning gets wise, and
does not spill the sun.

And the dead will not
come back to celebrate
the dark after the rage.

There, on the white peaks,
the splattered blood will
draw the face of assassin.

Do not enter the dome of
seething screams. The priest
hangs by the bell.

O, my brother, why we
have become coldblooded after
thousand years of pilgrimage?

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Satish Verma, 8 june 2019

No Love Song

In black midnight,
the white moon, like a nun
sits stonely.

The sliding moon is toxic
and you are not ready to
die for the theme.

The high priests will
weave the faux mantras to
invoke the goddess of wealth.

The debt pervades in every
relief. I survive the ignominy
of not touching a yogi.

And you, little brown bread,
will not feed the thousands
who come clamouring for a bite.

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Satish Verma, 7 june 2019

After The Snow Storm

It tumbles down. The real.
Heels start hurting.

Once upon a night, there
was a red moon, which used to hang
on your head and I
would watch something beyond.

No outburst of profanity
will take place, when you were
dissecting a triangle―

of rainbows. I will not
assemble the waist of a tall tree
after the fruit fall.

Gone with the snow, my
temple, my god. I am now
waiting for the looters of rings.

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Jonathan Davidoff Behavio, 6 june 2019

miles to close

U can sleep like a baby
I like to see you when you closing your eyes
So quiet you starting dreaming.
I above your breath touching your hairs,
So smooth and soft.
You are so perfect I thing...
When you lie to me again,
When you know I dont dream,
Giving me shit another time and fuck me over.
And I love to hear this silence,
No lies and no hate.
Touching your skin, kissing your chick.
To far to your soul, to close to my faith.

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Satish Verma, 6 june 2019

I Am Not Afraid

There was a road to landslips.
Why would the mountain break
for consanguinity?

You had spurned the hovering
clouds altering the means
of communication―

by adopting the lightning
for jousting with new gods.
As the thin cobweb flies before the eyes―

I go for insomnia to talk
with invisible in dark. In
moment’s lapse I become grey.

A life’s learning makes a
fool of me, hurting myself
in moonlight. The

abandonment brings fear
of me. I am ready to go
to a sheepeater carnivore and lie still.

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Satish Verma, 5 june 2019

Sheared Off

How much you were honest
with you?
The poems had singed
the eyebrows. I am filled
with salt.

Would you know what was
missing between the lines?
Afterlife will not bother me.
My image and me
will not superimpose.

An apology for extradition
of my agony. Trapped, my
mirror has broken. I
will tear off the moon
from the window, when the room
is dark.

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Satish Verma, 4 june 2019

Faraway

How much you can carry,
carving a deep gorge
during last rites
of a river?

It was a skunky remain
of the civilized terrain
gone berserk.

Oh pilgrim, don’t come
again to wash your feet
in the snow of
painted storks.

Hiding behind the tattoos
my raw galaxy perspires
climbing the graveyard
of old songs.

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Satish Verma, 3 june 2019

A Sombre Moon

This is for the
smaller gods sitting
in rains, seeking asylum in
snow.

Nobody knows the
fate of sunken erotica
when the glacier
melts.

A wild rose
sends the thorns to
prick your conscience.
Let the death walk
in sleep.

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10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

The Dancing Tale

Unbegotten

Rising Rage

No Love Song

After The Snow Storm

miles to close

I Am Not Afraid

Sheared Off

Faraway

A Sombre Moon

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