Satish Verma, 14 february 2017
A calling from zietgeist;
when a flute versus beast
starts a power play.
My world becomes wet.
Amorous,
when I watch a moth in your fist.
A split moon peels off
the cuticle, for a mega show of the
cone, shedding cruciform sword.
The white tiger leaps with
precision, spilling the milk container.
It was moonlight.
The baked smile now gathers
the teeth for a final bite.
The diamonds now quiver like a fear.
Satish Verma, 13 february 2017
Tell me, is it not pathetic
that we keep on drifting
away from our loved-ones as the
time beats us out.
You were in a marathon.
Did something go wrong? Why,
why did you run faster than others
to become a sole survivor of the massacre?
Life would want to know
your name, which you had wiped
out from every page of the book,
uncorrupting the painful cessation.
What was concealed
in between the words when you
went into the soul
to erase the bodyprint from the bed?
There was nothing left unsaid.
The death said, I will not come.
Satish Verma, 12 february 2017
A little death comes every day
for the lost age.
The fingertips write your name on
ice, to burn in sun.
and still, I will say it was good.
Searing poverty of words
scrambles for a suicide vest.
No meaningless truth can save
the kleptomaniac. After the demise
of a sentence I can say, would
not go for an award. The struggle
to live in some pretentious
sexuality of the curves was over.
A trident will find
the torso of revengeful god.
Appearance was deceptive
in entire race. The father of waves
takes a bird's-eye view
of the verses flowing from the
icy lips of peaks.
Satish Verma, 9 february 2017
That was unscarred night.
The full moon was rising.
A contagium had spurred it to go high.
A brazen assault bleeds
the painter's eyes. He sees only
red in the pubescent rage.
She walks out of the stain,
turning into ash, urchin's
brightest moon.
Standing on the crossroads
who was burning clouds?
Rains will never come again.
Phylogeny flattens the guns.
We were hiding behind the
rituals watching the fall of light.
I will make my own truce
with death. I refuse to walk
under the belly of smoke.
Satish Verma, 8 february 2017
Enemy was within;
invisible,
biting into iris.
Sea was asking,
would you like to sign
on my waves?
I was carrying
the relics. Body wants
to take revenge.
Lifting a kiss
from your lips.
O my death,
I am
living again;
changing the clothes.
A swarm of honey bees
was decending,
near a volcano.
Satish Verma, 7 february 2017
How can you unsee an etched wound?
The name will tell the moon.
An empty sky now calls for
the rains.
What was it-
the ceremonial farewell?
A dependable pain now starts
pulling out the sharpnels from the body.
You may call it
meaningless. My poem now
moves between the stings. Somebody
was going for a merciless kill.
Satish Verma, 6 february 2017
Does it stir you,
a body bag?
Journey of million years
stops here,
decoding the numbers.
A humming bird
inflight catches a dilemma
before the sun sets on the
whirring wings.
The moon will never be the same.
Hanging by a thread
a suicide bomber memorializes
the unhealing land.
Who will cry
when he is gone?
Satish Verma, 5 february 2017
What a long friendship with
moon!
I refuse to accept the blast.
Papa is dead, he said and
latched on to circularity.
I don't seek the interbreeding
with terror.
It was me in reverse mode
of cryptomania.
Too stoic; stop. I think
I am wrong; stop. And a serenade
for the lady luck. This life
was too much for me; stop.
Androgynous.
The female body wants to eat
maleness, by almond eyes.
The old man was walking barefoot
with a paintbrush.
Satish Verma, 4 february 2017
A hoot at midnight
goes challenging the deaf.
You strip to bones.
The dawn persists:
Will the sun on the sea
kill the dreams?
Do you see the gap
between the clouds?
I am going to make a heap of
all the interstitial escapes.
Flesheaters were scrawling on
the cheeks. A revolution of
wheels has failed.
A baby dies in womb
without A leap into future.
The father carries the burden
of chimneys.
A godless moon laughs
at the stupid earth,
which was talking about stars.
Satish Verma, 2 february 2017
It was more than
I could take.
The phallic paranoia.
Can I come out of
your body and kneel
before death?
Less than dark
I dream of the nipples
spurting out venom.
A pumice raft
of the crowd, sailing
on the waves of narcissism.
Invisible sharks
on high seas
open the lambs for salt.
Can you eat your
words please?
There is nothing left on the plate.
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