poetry

poetry
Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 1 february 2022

Come Whitely

Moon injured―
after reaching climax.
At the death of a poem
nobody was ready to climb the pyre.

A collapsed river was
sleeping in your eyes. I will
come and wake up the sun.
Now I am melting.

Some troubling signs were there.
You were becoming vulnerable,
if the rock cried. And you
wanted to die in my arms.

O brute, cold-blooded
murderer, the shadow of the comet
was lengthening. I don't
want any roses for funeral.

A self-image had the last laugh.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 31 january 2022

Far From Touching

From uncultured to
subcultured, I was made to―
feel responsible.

My coffers remained
empty. The nightmares had
squirreled away my peace.

And I was always
steeling for a reply. Embracing
the dark woods for support.

Everyday you changed
the mask to become innocent,
separating the sparks from the ash.

Paralysed like sea―
anemone without water. The
sea had receded in haste.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 30 january 2022

One Pyrexia

I am the circumference
and I am the center.
My math has failed.

Snooping at your dark gods,
the pi fumbles. Reverse
osmosis starts.

After lynching the saint
you put him on pedestal.
The frenzy, the blaze, and mayhem begins.

The portrait of the fugitive
was incomplete. Lilies
drop the colors and become nuns.

The cage becomes bigger.
You leave the salt. Tears
with laughter would do.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 28 january 2022

How To Decipher

Like a virgin birth,
a poem floats
without any pain.

Superimposes, as if
on a face, like Mona Lisa,
with her mysterious smile,
longing a release from
the cycle of rebirth.

Are you going to reperform
for me, your silent
surrender, bewildering
a lost pilgrim?

Will you become a
sitter like a moon-faced, veiled
by crying clouds? I had been
trying to touch your lips, eyes.

This vicious assault
was for me. Stony eyes, and
the striking hood―
impel kleptomania.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 27 january 2022

Traumatised

Why did you offer your
eyes, to a non-victim―
of invisible violence?

I broke my silence to―
become deaf, like an
ocean under the ice.

The grainy moon crops
up in dark matter. The blue
bomb explodes in your face.

Blueberries swell on your
lips, throwing the stains on the―
mud path between the hills.

The monk sits for oil―
bath on burning coals.
Truth bursts out as dark lies.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 24 january 2022

Broken Arms

The witch-hunt starts
for an unexploded bomb.

A racist slur becomes mute
for posterity.

The words start migrating―
coming out of their skin and colors.

A dead man walks into
a coal pit for exoneration.

Breathless, I become privy
to mass suicides of the flying moths.

You become a child, hiding
behind a tree, watching
a tiger maul a striped ariel.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 january 2022

Erecting Another Totem

A conspiracy of the sort.

This is what I wanted
from you.
Abandoned in space―
between the eyes, you were
supposed to lead the humble light
for an elusive peace.

I was lost in the
lexicon of intrigues, the
nest of prudence of the
proverbial lap dance.

Standing at the gate
of morgue, waiting to receive
another caravan of
pseudo remains.

Like a Spartan, you will
not retreat, not bend, your feet
near the grave― still standing erect.

Like wasps the green words would zoom.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 january 2022

Mooning Around

The porus mind―
in the vacant chair, thinking
of infidelity or unbelieving― with
folded hands in prayer
like mantis.

Eating moonlight―
a predator will wait
for a victim fall.

In meditation, you
evolve into Zen. The intuition
to kill, the urge― to go
bald and bare.

The kleptomania. Let me steal
your god from your garden―
without any need. Just
a showpiece.

In a death trap
millions of caterpillars die daily.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 january 2022

Some Profanity

Smearing an uncut―
and whole moon on the forehead
of night―

the crazy wind starts
turning back the clowns.
Tonight the kitchen would be shut down.

Somebody had climbed
the heaven for a joke, and
became a monster.

Beyond the bread and
milk, lies the cow dead. My
soul cries, who will―
jump on the moon?

The end opens a distant―
black water lake.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 january 2022

Reciting The Fake Poem

Making them dead―
in a regal way,
you joined the bomb squad
of poems.
Why did I need to remember
you intensely O god?

Why eternity of enormous
pain would ensnare you? A group
of panthers were going to attack a fawn
in the blue game? Will
you hurt me one day?

You don't cover your eyes
with a black veil. Then what was
the purpose of becoming invisible?
Does a truth live in dark?

There was no
need of law, before
you die, after removing the makeup.
We always discover an excuse
to live lavishly on the hired
words of praise.

There are no more parables
no more prophets.


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