Satish Verma, 12 may 2022
Will ask hibiscus―
in twilight, to let moth
live its one night.
*
The bougainvillea
leaves, falling one by one,
always frighten you.
*
Bends like a bow,
the sickle moon, to pick up
its child in water.
Satish Verma, 11 may 2022
Like sheltered, as in fist,
the firefly―
my poem shudders
in your cavernous eyes.
You will not bend down,
to pick up the dropped
coin of moon.
A benign lump
refuses to melt for a
speckled beam of light.
The charred bones
of the burnt-out church,
wait for the second coming.
There was no
curtain drop. Everything
will happen before the weeping grass.
The father and son,
were both guilty― of killing
the mother moth.
Satish Verma, 10 may 2022
Leaving a bloody trail―
moon jumps into lake in hurry.
Sun knocking on doors.
Existing without
the soul, was a fatal mix
of lips and hamlock.
You write your name
on the decapitated moon
declaring a war.
Fireflies now dip
the sparks in your eyes, which
will become blue poems.
Satish Verma, 9 may 2022
Your night eats the―
umbel of light with curved lips.
What was the ethics―
of this getty image?
Your responses are weak. You
walk in, on unsteady path.
Will not lift the rock from the chest
unlike Sisyphus.
You roll down on lilacs
gnawing at my pain― nibbling
away at my poem. There
is no gender, there was no god.
The spilled milk of moon
now washes the face of night.
I become you in the embrace
of unlimited death.
Satish Verma, 8 may 2022
A massive black hole
devoures the devdasi.
The temple becomes
a cadaver court.
Some say it was
less punishment for the sins
of the pulsar.
The dancing baby
in the womb of rubble
of prayers does not want
to come out.
It was a price of
dying intact.
The incense of screaming
roses blooms. How much
heavy was the wreath?
Overnight the image
was replaced. There was
no spinning wheel. Only
a water cistern.
Satish Verma, 7 may 2022
To remain normal―
how difficult it was. To undo
what had not been done.
A pinch of salt was
needed to taste your skin.
Belief will come later.
My unearthly lover, the
moon was becoming physical
sending me a lipless song.
Once upon a pain,
I had asked you to be, what
you were― my rival.
The uncanny fear, wins
over the whispers― when it
appears stark naked.
Satish Verma, 5 may 2022
Not for me,
this politics of living
for sexless alchemy.
You take on―
the pen's broken nib,
writing blood soaked birth
of an illegitimate avatar.
The spin was fatal.
Unfazed a bizarre tone,
announces a miss call. You
are pronounced dead.
You will swim now
in veil. Eyes looking deep
in water where light does not reach.
The mission of salvaging a
heritage fails.
Dog winter.
Sun hides behind the thin survivors.
There was no will,
no suicide pact.
Satish Verma, 4 may 2022
Discarding―
the past, systematically,
you reach the core,
of undoing.
A curse hangs―
over the empty cup.
Now you can fill it
with tears.
Space shrinks.
Eternal memory of
losing your faith―
brings in the damaged truths.
Stick and carrot―
both survive.
It was not, it was,
the liberation.
Satish Verma, 3 may 2022
When I need something.
I will ask you.
But I was never going― to need anything.
From where this―
armoury comes, trying to
influence the vowels, from
the clenched teeth?
When I hold your hand,
you start trembling.
There was mist and
there were walls.
Are we drifting apart―
in search of moons?
Flesh for flesh, bone for bone? You
swim fast, I track on the land.
Satish Verma, 2 may 2022
Time
was the great avenger.
It takes you away
into war,
with swan words.
My baby poem
cries. Lost in a crowd of swindlers.
Not finding the home of truth.
Was it a rarified
phenomenon, that it was
a dark nebula,
that gave birth to the sun?
Are you free to
agree with me, with my existence?
The conclusion was
beyond the judgment of insane people.
Are you going to harm yourself
by accepting the fireball questions?
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