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	Satish Verma
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Satish Verma, 11 stycznia 2013

INTEGERS

When you were learning
how to kill,
somebody was beheading my faith.

There was lint in my eyes
and the lathyrism
of numbers.

In raw emotions
you took away everything from me
I was left with an entire whole.

Still I will owe you
a minus zero when fight for numbers
will break out.

Who are those people,
that were sharing the divide?
How much will remain when you divide death?

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 10 stycznia 2013

CORONA

A starfish was in my glass.
You blame the moon of brutality
while moondust had misled the ocean.
Darkhole was ejecting the stars.

An animal instinct sparts the bullet
like supernova. Black dwarf crop up
around the light house for airstrike
on a thermonuclear temper.

From nothing to nothingness you are
scared. The questions breathe into centuries.
The soul opens a globe of unrivalled green,
and a child wants to climb a tower of light.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 9 stycznia 2013

UNWAKING

I need not want to know for it,
a dirty mind of lateral conjugation;
of uncharted hopes. The name
splits the long story.

Everyone had a stain on chest,
color roiling the heart.
Dancing on the cocktail grass,
they started calling the moon by putting up long knives.

Unhearing the whistles in rooms of
lambs, the crosswords engaged the knot
of strongheads who had started
playing diplomacy.

Nothing changed the contours. The wind
was inheriting the scent of a rider, the
trees unheard off. Fastidious, my innocent
mind was looking at the highway.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 8 stycznia 2013

HONEY MOONER

There was a silky assault
by a gray cloud over the sickle moon
and I went crazy.

Moon said I will come again
for the glittering makeup
when the curtain are drawn.

Indelible tattoos on my breast
will haunt you whole night.
You must suck the stars meanwhile.

Come March, I will shower the
blue stains on your shirt.
It will remind you the number of nights
you slept with me.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 7 stycznia 2013

UNCHARTED SELF

Do not go like a rose,
stay like poinsettia.
Now as a brutal encounter
holy color will descend.

Polygonal wound was too proud
to bleed on the street.
The scarlet morning will bring
night’s blood.

And mystery of love between
outcasts will never smell the hate.
Insane discretion wraps a baby
of a cloud to argue for parents.

Questions are raw like sea
rocks under the hoofs of a
whiny horse. I had found you
sitting in a graveyard.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 6 stycznia 2013

FAINT WRITING

You wanted to live
inside a shell
and step outside, in
a bowl of habits, sometimes,
nudging accumulated sins
to offset the aftershocks.
Tsunami is here to stay.

The crowd was swelling
lured by candles on the sea.
Each candle for one living grave
carried by each person on the head,
for the raging waves of life.
In one minute you will become a shadow
of long legs.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 5 stycznia 2013

BRINGING DOWN

The road breaks here.
Give me something to heal the fractured earth.
Angels are too much for me, the
gash turns inward ripping apart
eternal vigil.

They head into the burning books
and then explode themselves
on wet sands, generating grids, blithely lethal.
Wired blind, the sun weeps.
A green catastrophe tears a huge iceburg.

Post-coitol emptiness. The sweet nothing
stops. He becomes everything, the world
was not. The clouds bleach, moon
strips to bone. The artist goes into
exile to find a fiction.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 4 stycznia 2013

sui generis

Looting after the earthquake:
I have wrecked myself
on my own terms.

Bringing down the edifice
of human cult,
the man has come in the
spin of richtor scale.

Why does a crisis tears up the mask
and animal comes out?
An insect will wait for the hidden
dust to settle till dawn.

Along the rim, a glacier
has collided with an iceburg.
Now eyes do not hold water.
It is raining.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 3 stycznia 2013

BLEMISHES

Without assent
I open your book
to find your crazy god on mat.

Love was a blind bird
in a state of agony.
Learning to fly.

Moon would not reply
through aslant door.
Something was between us.

Here, now a sordid tale
breaks the taboo. They
were investing on skin.

It was a cheap wine
in a golden chalice,
for a lipless mouth.

Satish Verma

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Satish Verma, 2 stycznia 2013

INTERLOCKED

Between the tremors
falls the face
in a glass of water.
Sometimes false teeth reverberate
through the pages of history; devastation
sinks in. A faun rubs the landscape.

Hatchlings come out when death-music
stops. A miracle tends to quieten the bones.
You should not hate me,
it was the method of ruines, the spirits
hover like vampires. Tell me have you
seen the street walking?

A table sings in a kitchen, the knives
peel off the stars, a moon dips in milk
of morality. The house was in disorder,
but the bougainvilleas were shedding
ceaselessly the colourful leaves.
Summer was coming.

Satish Verma