Satish Verma, 11 august 2016
What was about this face?
Between mirage and actuality?
A fireball was coming towards you.
You upturn the underside,
wanted to taste the blood
and get argasm.
The statues were posing nude.
Mothers were clad in leaves.
Fruits were the greed of man.
I refuse to lie in state. The
sand grains will find the innocence
of silver breasts when sky will
spat a murder. Were you ready
now to become corrupt?
At last the beginners are now
becoming the boots.
Satish Verma, 10 august 2016
Sometimes the ice burns,
a fish moves in your eyes.
The ubiquity was at lowest level,
nothing was visible in sun.
Mission crawl in the crotch
does not find any fever.
The golden cave has caved in.
Moon will find another sky.
Nerves were green, pain was
black. No mercy for hooks.
Your map was here and my stitches.
Let us see, who tells the lie.
Satish Verma, 9 august 2016
Living in a cyst, it
would explore the breast.
The black ethics goes beyond
the bounds of mystique of
non-movement.
A while away
a conflict comes out of the body.
Melts into a face.
There is no flesh, no skin.
Only transgression, holding my hands.
There were no arguments.
Only speech punctuated by silent sobs.
A taper standing in a gale.
The shadow flies like an arrow into
the pitcher of hemlock.
Satish Verma, 8 august 2016
A tumbler climbs a rain
in all crimelessness.
Perhaps you will never know
my invaginating self. The thirst has
become a river.
A pile of books and I cannot read.
The shadow lengthens on the wall.
An eagle melts in the air.
They are shifting him for amputation.
Truth cannot walk.
I become my father tonight
and watch the house burning.
I am told there was lot of bleeding before.
There will be no need to rescuscitate.
The dead man says, why not?
Satish Verma, 7 august 2016
A golden fish in
blue waters, with many eggs,
collecting the sperms.
Haiku in sun-
light was the essence of
the daydreaming.
The lost road in
bamboos comes out
as solitary song.
Satish Verma, 6 august 2016
While drinking the long night
you became taller than the eternal
question, bitten by the moon.
Witchhunting will not stop
in oligarchy. A human right
stands on the ivory gate to enter the dust.
The weightlessness is paraded
nude amongst the full-lipped
follies of ornamental speech.
The duende was lacking in palace.
Rivals held the moonlight.
Now the muse will become celibate.
A giant mantis hops on a podium
to bless the dying god, and the candle
burns whole night.
Satish Verma, 5 august 2016
Do I have a choice
before knifing the page
for a meaning, when I was
drowned in a nostalgia?
Cinchona bark. This was my
keyword for living bitterly
under a tryant inciting
the riots of colors.
The digital death comes as
a reward for insane truth.
You turn the back on home
and walk towards the sea –
to count the empty shells on beach.
Here life completes a cycle
from emptiness to emptiness.
You are ready to go in void.
*On the death of Steve Jobs.
Satish Verma, 4 august 2016
Put off the lantern.
I am waiting for the moon’s
primal face. The lesser flamingoes
were going to shed the pink color.
Nude as a python, the kiss
of pomegranates, kills by asphyxiation.
I suffer in the hands of protests.
The black ice now enters the eye of a needle.
A barefoot noun feeds the junta.
The butter babies will serve the poetry
of poor on the mats of principles.
I will remain unslept on straw.
A newspaper eats the story this side.
After the bloodbath surgeons weep.
An armless lover hugs a priest
for not calling the gods.
Satish Verma, 3 august 2016
Melting in the cauldron to feed,
until later, I will seek you
in parallel interpretations.
Presently, thoughts are very disturbing.
Human rights for animals
caged in peals
of god realization.
I was thinking to quit the stage.
Symptoms are horrific.
Neoplasm was spreading.
I am scared of the plague.
Sweet corns of sex:
million pieces smile,
drained out healing?
Who will save the river?
Discharges are crippling
the soft limbs,
the truth.
Man walks, shudders, falls
wants to rise again,
from the ashes of hate.
Satish Verma, 2 august 2016
Stay away from the main road
Subhumans are coming.
Face of black spiders, long arms
creeping, hopping.
The green blood and burning sticks;
gateway to moon
sun decides to vanish.
Confronting the flesh makes you clenched snake,
lymphocytes start crowding
death was drawing near.
A fawn wanders without mother
pink eyes, trotting on grass,
syndicated trackers are circling.
End or means? What you choose,
will decide the future of man.
Let the flame become nameless.
A cupped beak and hairy thighs
climb on the rock
to squander the seeds.
Clouds are gathering at distance
I may not wait for the rain.
I am going to swallow the pill.
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