Satish Verma, 13 marca 2021
In moonscape, a flower
remedy, enters the white
smoke of your eyes. An open―
house shuts.
The coal writes its name on
blue skin. We were slaves of our
own deeds. I want to go back to
my ancestors, to learn the clock.
Unheard the suicide of
a viper, eating its own venom.
The fat people will come in line―
to pay homage.
White caps and black caps in
thick silence, drink the empty glasses,
cutting the meat of the books―
and reading again the sky.
Satish Verma, 12 marca 2021
Exploring yourself―
with an ornate dagger,
to find the missing link.
My integrity was at
stake. From where did―
you start?
Bring the steel from
the sea, and loneliness
from the storm.
The beige sunset
would dare to go ahead
of the red moon.
Will you threaten a
small reply? The lips were
in the state of siege.
I will meet you
one day at distant dangers.
How far you will go with me?
Satish Verma, 10 marca 2021
I do not know,
If it was a religious assault―
to meet god,
face to face―
when my poem was burning.
One tooth broken―
I cannot speak properly. But
my eyes will show my angst,
my unretrieved light
from a tunnel.
Who will find the sun, when
night was sick? And grievers
had gone to dig up a grave?
There was a meaningless pain,
in waiting. The poem was dead.
Day you are in, day you
are out. It was a beauty
to hear nothing.
Satish Verma, 9 marca 2021
Starting a crush,
on the baby face moon.
Only half-sinned
by staying quiet.
Think straight.
If you don't spell out,
you will snap―
like the fallen blue angel.
Falling in arms. Space
was small. Ars poetica―
faulted. You feel―
luggage was heavy.
For a griever, it was
a long walk. In trance a
city lifts your pyre.
You refuse to burn alive.
Calling names in sleep.
Satish Verma, 8 marca 2021
A circle,
will not become complete,
without a center.
The peripheries
cannot be defined.
Why should we
become prisoners
of small gods?
The hope―
is a gift of unknown.
Take it.
Satish Verma, 7 marca 2021
Walk warily.
You are in crisis zone.
Moon will not rise today.
*
A bare phenomenon
of shedding the
fears in dark.
*
Now you will confront
yourself
to take revenge.
*
Like nocturnal
flight of a bat, to find
the mate on plum.
*
Hangs a tale of
a squirrel, waiting
for a Buddha.
Satish Verma, 5 marca 2021
Where will you go
when you are not right,
not wrong?
And train will not stop
at your station. You
have to wait till sunrise.
Half-mist, half-moon―
and the glass houses.
The rocks refuse to fly.
The consecrated dawn
on a silent street whispers.
The city was dead.
I sleep after the naked
assault. The black shirts
and the white shirts have no answer.
Satish Verma, 4 marca 2021
Stone gods
envision the interface
between man and beast.
*
He sits with his
head sunk in knees.
Wants to become a painting.
*
A black piano
looks around for the
blind maestro.
*
He was fighting
with the shadows of ghosts
on walls.
Satish Verma, 3 marca 2021
Multiple hurts― and
you still want to live
in this dystopia.
The queue was
lengthening to catch up
with moon.
The gate man will talk
of an apocalypse.
The repeat flame, which
does not die in the presence
of sun.
The thoughts. Will they
ever stop in dark? The
moonlight gathering the ashes.
The erotica fails to
cast the net. You want to
collect the venom of desire
capping the end blues.
Satish Verma, 2 marca 2021
After a long journey
he wants to sit
under the moon.
*
Not calling home,
he wanted to cross
the religion.
*
There was no clearing―
of subterranean fears.
I have accepted the mats.
*
In boiling water
why did you jump
to save the fish?
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