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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 29 march 2017

A Long Hot Summer

Sitting on the hill,
nestled against the moon,
talking to stars.

You love a woodpecker.
What a stupid thing.
A panther dies of thirst.

A tall fern unfurls
the frond, to catch
a crested iguana.

In deep blue water
seventeen summers
drowned, in one go.

A sapsucker goes
on, making holes,
in my psyche.

A tree will wait
for the summer to end.
Then it will tow the rain.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 28 march 2017

Voiceless Calling

Fixing the dignity
like a fabulous sarcophagus
you are unsparing in your generosity.

You left one window open
for the saint of wax
to let in the light.

Keeping him alive for –
a fake functionality
to run the community.

There was a long queue
of people to offer the wooden roses
before the wound heals.

Who was eternal in this
vanishing universe? Do-
not stop me of if I start bleeding.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 27 march 2017

One Day

A repressed scream.
Someone breaks the head.
I was hitting the wall.

The rape hurts.
Withers away the dam.
River was changing the course.

It was very pompous;
the benign torture. No
more I belong to this world.

And the dilapidated
houseboat floats on the lake
to collect the immersed-

bones of ancesters. A
door opens. The poem prints
the pain of centuries.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 march 2017

A Future Waits

Do not give credence
to mundanity. An iconic
black night was getting ready
to welcome Venus.

A storm was raging inside,
vandalizing the secrets of the house,
uprooting the doors and windows.
The whole life was at stake.

Shrinking the head of foes,
you start eating the live insects.
But the truth was escaping
from your lips.

My poem drop the seeds,
for the unborn children of violence.
I dedicate a book for the other me,
as I near the crossroads of uncertainty.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 march 2017

Never To Sleep

Those migratory storks,
will not come
this year.
The lake was burning.

The secret kill
of the wringer
was metastasizing.
Make the tether-

small for the macabre
end. I am not yet
frozen. The stalker

will not leave the
flame. Outside a tribute
was ready for
an uprooted tree.

My shadow moves ahead
to catch a cage bird,
in the parrot green sky.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 march 2017

Questioning

Trending the nude prints,
life had been dismissive,
plucking the gray hairs from brows.

Manipulating the dopamine
the body’s odour
wafted through the cluttering limbs.

Charcoal underlines the
need of a wounded dove.
What else one needs from grain and water.

The tears will sew the lids
one day. I don’t want
to churn the sea again.

The dogfish comes on the
shores for a rebuttal.
It had never led a dog’s life.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 march 2017

Unsinking In Depth

You are not
on my page.
No more in my abstract sleep.

Cease-fire
will not be declared-
in the realm of dark dreams.

There was
one tear at a time.
No battle cry.

Trampling on
the old reminiscences,
a tiger jumps on the author-

of mangrove.
The aerial roots have
stopped breathing.

Your lungs become
a flute. A war song frightens
the death.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 march 2017

Collecting Milkweed

I will not understand
the gift of hurting
in unsolicited encounters.

Will chase you around
the world,
without arriving.

O fear, my bread;
cannot feel you, unbirthing.
Life gives me many stitches.

A parallel face mocks
in the sky, unless the moon
cries for the kiss.

Wooden wheels move on
the laid body. Your venomous
tooth I break.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 march 2017

Fainting Spell

Climbing
on the celestial pole,
did you come
for a lethal kiss?

Floating
in vacuity,
do you find some depth
in the black hole?

The wheels
move on stolen track
of an epic. You come back
to a dead sea-

for a swim. What looked pink
was not a flamingo
with a bent bill
held upside down.

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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 march 2017

Gray Dawn

Sudden onset of an insertion
going for a kill in bluish green valley.

Pretend as if you are dead
and start disintegrating.

Your poverty of words disconnects
you from cogitation and you start-

walking in sleep. Cannot reach
the breasts jutting out like pine cones -

dismantling the invasion. You start
manipulating the seeds. Fruits

are nowhere in sight. The risk is
grave crossing the borders of virginity.

Pure aching and one thousand moons.
I have not reached the gates of truth.

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