Satish Verma, 19 august 2018
Move the steps, 
to accept the dark. 
Moon has abdicated the throne. 
 
I am still trying to become. 
Not becoming something. 
A lot has remained- 
 
unsaid in my small poems. 
I am still trying, still trying 
to decipher the life, to decipher. 
 
The roots will know my pain. 
My pain, why did I remained 
mute amidst the clamouring words? 
 
Tell me, why should it happen? 
Why should? That someone jumps 
in the boiling cauldron to find the truth.
Satish Verma, 18 august 2018
Unbecoming, you watch 
the sunset. 
Something snaps. 
 
Violence was loud. 
There was no agreement 
between the trees. 
 
I draw a plan 
and reach the lake 
to listen. 
 
There was no 
manifestation. Only 
unheard voices. 
 
You get the answer.
Satish Verma, 16 august 2018
It was difficult to revisit, 
the birth therapy. 
 
Arms had no emotions, 
the violence will not go. 
 
Let us take a back road for 
the sake of anatomy. 
 
And find out a man and the woman 
to bend the gender. 
 
The rock salt and the bruises 
will melt, if you were warm blooded.
Satish Verma, 15 august 2018
I have accepted myself, now. 
 
In incompleteness, 
and all flaws. 
 
The bunker was intent, 
on self-destruction. Why 
did you want to 
stop that? 
 
The prodigy will not 
walk with me, I know. 
Yet my shadow falls in love. 
 
A tear-washed poem 
was a good beginning.
Satish Verma, 12 august 2018
I have accepted myself, now. 
 
In incompleteness, 
and all flaws. 
 
The bunker was intent, 
on self-destruction. Why 
did you want to 
stop that? 
 
The prodigy will not 
walk with me, I know. 
Yet my shadow falls in love. 
 
A tear-washed poem 
was a good beginning.
Satish Verma, 8 august 2018
After reaching, near- 
the crumbling wall, you 
enter the moment, for 
want of an apology. 
 
The surge walks with 
the moon for a- 
beheading. I was unaware 
of the kindness. 
 
The fierce revenge of the 
night. Somewhere there was 
an aberration. Two stark naked 
kin went down fighting for a fish. 
 
It was homage to the 
pain after summary execution. 
There was no resistance left 
after the merciful end.
Satish Verma, 7 august 2018
You should have asked me. 
Why was it not important- 
to take a life, for saving 
one other life? 
 
I say, what did you give 
me after the coronation? 
Some sinuous questions? 
Or splayed my heart open? 
 
The crowd was always absurd. 
You were latched onto the- 
bronzed face of a naïve hero, 
who wants the ants to drag an elephant. 
 
The bone ossification proves 
that you were still a juvenile. 
St. Anthony's Fire? You want to 
embrace the death now?
Satish Verma, 6 august 2018
Under siege, 
tied to a bomb- 
you were talking to yourself. 
 
The violence inside you 
had beaten you mercilessly. 
 
The text has dried up. 
Steal a glance- 
 
and find out the blood spots 
on the Mars, the god of war. 
 
The sound in the vase, was becoming louder 
of coins. 
 
Now you will walk- 
on my dead body.
Satish Verma, 4 august 2018
Disconnecting tragedy 
you live again, 
in myths 
and illusions. 
 
The grit. You lack the spine. 
Rocks. 
A slide. 
The chicken. 
 
The cow-pathway 
leads to a barn of a mud hut, 
where you stand every evening 
to welcome the hoofs dust. 
 
That tells the history, 
the pain of unknowing, 
revealing the name 
of a killer. 
 
There was silence 
interrupted by a shriek. 
Someone was rising 
from the grave. 
 
The inert things start moving.
Satish Verma, 4 august 2018
All day it rained. 
There was no destination. 
The futurist will incite 
the blue light in the itinerary. 
 
You can convert the eye 
into moon. The sky follows 
the assassin under- 
the cover. 
 
O Brother, I wanted to 
scream. Lines were not clear 
but the blood was same, 
in syntax and on knife. 
 
The potential, the genius, 
the capital. They were clubbed 
to win the game. The earth 
will go searching the fakir.
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