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	Satish Verma
	PROFILE About me Friends (3) Poetry (3973)

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Satish Verma, 17 december 2016

Enigmatic

The secular love:
you are contaminated
between skin and prayer.

Back from the odyssey
finding a crop-circle
in bridal chamber.

Rival was an alien
with a flat stomach
thinking black.

The thieving sperms
had a glorious end,
unentered in grass.

Your body was churning out
a religion.
I will find out my own god.

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Satish Verma, 16 december 2016

Ignition

Like a butterfly pinned
in a collage, fluttering.
Death makes a deal.

I was appalled
standing on the edge
watching the withering body.

The lake drowns me.
Seagulls were waiting
for a renaissance.

It is not even midsummer.
The planting of the kiss
remains incomplete.

No sex was involved
in baring midriff.
Moon ignites the legs.

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Satish Verma, 15 december 2016

Wishes

Nothing was beholden.
Colony counts were perfect.
You were never guaranteed and exit.

I am stalked by lips
of a black tulip holding
a moonbeam.

The world moves
wearing a shell of emptiness
in a cosmos, inviolable.

Aggrandizement
beyond the bluffing.
More beliefs and many withdrawls.

You will not kill me?
Half-way to soothing words
of ecstasy.

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Satish Verma, 14 december 2016

Night Vigil

Let us talk about ligation.
I don’t want to push the –
searing boundaries trumpeting
the sexual orientation.

The butterflies and bees
are disappearing. A petri dish,
a test tube and artificial
thrust through the red lights.
An unbroken promise
lies in shambles.

Availing something less,
had been beyond the topic
of returning back to home.
The desert blooms again
with indignant cacti.

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Satish Verma, 12 december 2016

O You

A monster from a tree
jumps and runs around the bushes
to mate.

A blank statement
is issued. The system groans
and collective pshyche fails.

A stark silence
for the food for thoughts.
I sit down to meditate-

to find the bloody answer
for white death. The dirty
work to sweep the floor.

It smells like an
amputated leg.
Do we need to draw a circle around the bomb?

With a lie on your lips,
are you going to negotiate
with violence?

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Satish Verma, 11 december 2016

I Begin To Think

Abdicating the shadows;
totemic.
I return back to dig up the buried-
moon from the ruins of poetry.

It benumbs.
No response was coming from
cajoling the black secrets-
of time-cast.

A storm was raging in a pack
of emptiness. Like a dead fly
between the pages of skulls.
I couldn't find the exact words.

The religion of wish-lists.
Can you find the end of desires?
From thought to thought-
was there any vision?

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Satish Verma, 10 december 2016

Tracking Down

White lotus at red feet:
we will start self-infliction
explicating
with regrets.

After a rough night
the day was weeping.
From where the bread will
come, when you were playing
with a golden spoon.

This morning I again
dig a hole in heart.
Was the Mayan calender right?
Why the sun is playing slow music?

I am coming nearer
to a locked god.

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Satish Verma, 9 december 2016

Somalia Calling

I met a talking moon
on the road of death.
What easily comes, goes easily with winds.
I was counting the ribs of
my dying child. He went into the
woods to fight the unknown wars
of hunger.

Bunker: it went into flames
sailing into brilliance of space.
I am going to inherit the black grains
of molten day. How I will confront
the night tainted with bonfires
of sunken eyes?

God particles in tiny fists spreading
the spun cotton, intitating a
revolution of thoughts. A bumpy
argument. The icon denies the guilt
of mass killing. I want
to remain unsung.

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Satish Verma, 8 december 2016

Recklessly

Take the thorns away
from roses.
Sex will never be the same.

Bring the bellicosity under
cover on the steep side.
The mountain has started cracking.

The wreckage was strewn
around in the field of croci.
Religion had hit the jagged cliff and exploded.

It was not an airborne god.
The salt water was telling
a tainted story.

Flashing the legs, the
pink panther will find an equal in
wolf. It was a political liability.

*

Sacred sex
on water trail.

Would you mind to sit
on a solid rock and
measure the strong winds
stripping the tall trees?

Jackals were calling.
Lions are approaching.
You say it was not immoral
to commit a sin before the fire.

There is a bloody gash
on my body. I am not
able to stop iniquity.

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Satish Verma, 7 december 2016

The Wheels

The path disappears
under the foot.
Gently I lay down the book
and start reading the blank page.

Stainless thoughts.I strip to root.
A stunning revelation
about a tinned dialogue.

Blue hydrangeas
were telling something.
It was time to become insane
on the street.

The lust,
the sex
creeps into the sect. Religion was a proxy
to kill, to achieve a stop.

going nowhere.