Satish Verma, 3 june 2018
It was spirit of the time. 
The lethal trade of─ 
missiles, someone was sending free. 
 
You collect the cachet 
of bleak weather. The 
roses were in bloom. 
 
Trying to conceive the 
buttercups in the blue─ 
frame of melancholia. 
 
I err, and find myself 
in sleep after the contact. 
A genetic gratitude overwhelms. 
 
You catch the stings 
blindly. The other sin will 
take care of itself in blood.
Satish Verma, 2 june 2018
After a hard day 
a game-changing starts, 
igniting the night. 
 
You are buried 
in stitches. The wounds 
are devoid of blood. 
 
Will you split the─ 
silence along the words? 
There was no awareness now. 
 
A persona 
becomes a revolution. The streets 
are painted red. 
 
The monument 
drifts. You wash the landscape 
with moonlight.
Satish Verma, 1 june 2018
That was a pioneer, 
lunatic moon, 
and me an unwilling partner. 
 
The panther leaps again. 
I suffer from 
stab to stab. 
 
The giver, sucks, 
in genocide.Adoration 
becomes a scourge. 
 
One malingerer 
leads to another. 
The healer was very sick. 
 
My master was a fake 
The book was empty 
and the print was gone.
Satish Verma, 30 may 2018
A hot body 
was a hymn to the night. 
 
I will drink 
the moonlight.
 
In December─ 
a poem? Words freeze 
 
in full bloom. The 
corona becomes blue. 
 
A rose bud breached. 
Beast was out.
Satish Verma, 29 may 2018
I love you in poverty of 
words; 
when you are not seeking 
anything. 
 
A dusky strength, self- 
deprecating, 
holding forth the virtues of 
self-denial. 
 
What was the awareness of 
a blind? 
Of shadows of migrating birds 
in moonlight? 
 
Hold my extended arm. May 
be you can fall, 
looking without eyes in the depth 
of the sea.
Satish Verma, 28 may 2018
Drunk at 
midnight, playing with 
moon squibs. 
* 
Hearing─
a nocturne, the spirit soars, 
when you are drowned.
* 
A galaxy 
invites me for a night vigil. 
Some elixir will rain.
Satish Verma, 27 may 2018
For unspoken answers, 
there was always the─ 
question, why hawks 
were needing the peace? 
 
Tied to innate fringes, 
I want an explicit display. 
The prologue was very 
misleading. 
 
War was inside and 
outside. Were you a hobbes- 
ian? I am not afraid 
of death. 
 
Reacted so violently. 
The colored shirts should be 
taken off. Let us see 
the scars!
Satish Verma, 26 may 2018
When the intellect was 
defiling the unwritten book; 
half-read, you reach for epiphancy. 
 
Why you had to kill yourself 
on the swing, before reaching─ 
the peak? Searching for escape? 
 
I cannot know you, O flame. 
Do not go beyond the sky. 
My wings twist like nasturtiums. 
 
Last night a city wept in─ 
my arms. There were no roses─ 
left and, no cut glass nudes. 
 
They bleed, when you dig 
out the roots. The croci were 
planted by me when snow had melted.
Satish Verma, 25 may 2018
Your hands were chopped off. 
How will you write 
the poem now? 
 
* 
 
Truth was─ 
an alloy. Need to mix some 
lie in pure gold. 
 
* 
 
Why did the 
roses cry? The saint was 
not in the tomb.
Satish Verma, 24 may 2018
Tonight when you deploy 
the pillow to block the doors 
and the skin fails; a moon 
will enter by sealth from 
the window in virgin black night. 
 
I will bring forest flames from 
where, adoration never stops. 
There may be a disconnect─ 
when you kill the time; yet 
turmoil rises with sensuality. 
 
A fluid design appears 
in blue dark. There was balka- 
nization in the limbs. I grab 
the waterfalls, climb the strings 
and reach the bliss of a poem.
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