Satish Verma, 13 kwietnia 2021
And my love, when do we talk
of wilderness
and daisy blooms?
The snakeskin―
twirls, and I watch the
wriggling night moving away.
I swallow the
empty words. They are not
heavy and no concoction.
The body and desires.
I have let then slip away,
my dreams, my knocks.
Against the dying of
blueberries in your eyes,
I will not wash the stains.
The curve of umbilicus
still remembers the dazzling
fall.
Satish Verma, 12 kwietnia 2021
Centrality suffers.
A poem
cries.
The kingfisher
dives
to find the depth of water.
Ready to strike
beyond― the
horizon, black hole.
With September
blues on―
my hands, I pray.
Satish Verma, 11 kwietnia 2021
Do not measure zany,
yourself. When did you become
your pedagogue?
Around the city I am
planting the roses―
against the wishes of land mines.
Haunted by a survivalism,
somewhere the smoke
was rising. But I wanted―
to leave the fragrance
for you― and you will not
wait for the ghosts to tell,
who was the visitor. You
will not know my future and
I will not know your past.
Satish Verma, 10 kwietnia 2021
After finding the pulse,
you become a man-eater.
Decide to play a volcano―
to solve the mystery
of god.
Shirtless violence,
sells the skin, the vagus
and the cranium.
There was no difference
between black and white. I
had fallen for the crooked―
smile of death.
You appear like a
nymph in my stasis―
of thoughts. I kiss
my hands.
You penetrate in my bones.
O God, you were exactly my image.
Moon stained a poem beseeches
me, to lift my pen.
Satish Verma, 9 kwietnia 2021
The interstellar
reticence, becomes the
muse of a storm.
*
Departure begins,
when the lights are dimmed.
Night licks the moon.
*
Now, you can
roll up the stings.
Cadaver will not rise.
*
The bell rings―
for the last exhibit.
Moths were waiting.
Satish Verma, 8 kwietnia 2021
When the time faults, it
becomes metaphysical for me―
to write a poem in flesh and blood.
A night's terror, descends.
Buzz of an insect hovers,
until I give in.
A thoughtess invasion―
makes you unstable, when
you reach the heights, where
snow wails, time and space
start collapsing.
A vacuum bubble expands
into a dome. You draw frescoes
in dream. The colors penetrate.
Blind landings begin.
Looks as if you were sitting with dead,
till eternity.
Satish Verma, 7 kwietnia 2021
This age of depression―
Do you hear―
the unheard sounds?
I always bleed―
in the books. Some words
won't stay for the sake of propriety.
Nothing is held back,
not even modesty. The biggest
savagery, of being a human.
And a flock of ravens will
go on hungry,
not feeding on debased carrion.
The baby moon will
not smile. History has
cheated us out of the truth.
The heat, noises and
dust. Every face was covered
in soot. I cannot recognize myself.
Satish Verma, 6 kwietnia 2021
Unstitch my memories,
I have come home,
My bag was full of worries.
How will I spread my age?
An old man reading the palms―
cannot find the glasses.
After a mutiny, nothing was
left of a hissing pyramid.
Tell me the shape of tomorrow
to come. In dark I have
to bury my name.
Satish Verma, 4 kwietnia 2021
The collective
scream of peacocks,
brings the night horror.
The horses run―
in morning blue.
The call has come.
Cotton wool on―
retina. I cannot read
your command.
To immerse
my god in your lake,
the wait must be long.
Satish Verma, 3 kwietnia 2021
It was time to
modify the heritage―
in a delicate bid to
aid the dying.
A wrenching decision was―
to ask for an apology
from a living god.
I will crack, but
not come to you, to
invoke the grace of mercy.
The twilight sits at
my door to seek the nemesis.
Why did I swallow the moon
without asking the sky's womb?
Cocooned. Afraid
to show the scarred skin.
Your words bloom in dark,
like a cereus. I collect the fame
to light the candle in wind.
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