Satish Verma, 1 grudnia 2021
You started parenting
a blitz,
against my nest.
I am bleeding on my lines.
It is hurting
me a lot.
Like breathing in chlorine.
The mercury rises, falls.
Towards unknown blues,
you took a dive. I cannot
read the signature―
of nemesis.
Would not find a
kindred spirit. I was trying
to follow you in dark.
The story does not end
here. Back to antiquity, did you
believe in a second cousin
of moon, that were you?
Satish Verma, 30 listopada 2021
Pure kill.
I pull out the shivering
heart in my eyes.
A rising sin. I will
not forget you, never―
your tongue bifida.
And a real―
murder of a blue-green cow
reared for religion.
That sucks. The
numbers, the lies and
the terrible abuses.
The shadows are
lengthening and you were
becoming small.
Satish Verma, 29 listopada 2021
Night was young.
Shameless moon
wanted to talk to me.
Will do what―
I was not supposed to do,
holding back the tears.
We had killed
ourselves with indelible scars
for a puppet show.
Reddish-yellow
rind of bloody orange in
the eyes of severed head.
Satish Verma, 28 listopada 2021
It was a quaint
feeling. Something was
going to happen.
I had asked the fading
moon, are you going
to die?
Fear was going to
win, it said. The blues
are approaching.
Do you believe in
probables of phobias?
The killing of big hugs?
No mercy for the
obsession of noisy celebration.
A god was changing the gender.
I forgive the fire,
forget the light and
start embracing the dark for a bang.
Satish Verma, 27 listopada 2021
The beast
draws a circle for
winter, untelling.
You climb the frozen
falls, to reach the moon
in gray.
The treachery
in domes was evident.
You get the twisted cones.
Under the shade
of stars, you start the
fire to ignite the limbs.
Satish Verma, 26 listopada 2021
Ah, the statecraft of
present times, was becoming
agender.
The strength of institution
would lie in old oil paintings.
You become stupid
and start living in dark rooms
to understand the sun.
Half-beliefs were―
cooked straight from the
sermons of striped coats.
The delusion was
simple. There was camphora
to revive the fainting glory.
Satish Verma, 24 listopada 2021
There was no respite
from the repeated assaults.
When did I ask you to move
slitherly with words?
A straight delivery
was needed to refrain after
the collective suicide.
There was a conspiracy theory
that a super moon was
going to drown you
in honey.
Now you come back
to seek pardon and then
start destroying the truths
with impunity.
It was an intrigued
home coming
with braided locks.
Satish Verma, 23 listopada 2021
A lesser person walks
in the dead man's street
to meet his metastasized
oncocytes to,
kill for the sake of kill,
death for a song that was
not there.
And you will keep wearing
the explosive vest
which will not go off.
Luteum. The color of
spring spreads. No prolactin.
Milk has dried up,
and so the tears in the eyes.
Satish Verma, 22 listopada 2021
Your face becomes
an eye, a saga of
holding the assaults.
A body hails
the sagacity.
A child becomes a man
away from home
of truths, god forbids.
The innocence gives
rise to a mound of bones.
Death lingers to
take revenge.
Brutality breeds
brutality. Can anyone
break this cycle by giving
one's life after receiving the award?
Satish Verma, 21 listopada 2021
It was a direct hit,
meeting an immaculate
moon tonight.
Was it possible― that
a star flew off the sky
to undo something?
I was the mist,
and I was the sun.
Describing the accident―
not the truth.
The molester.
Time, steps out taking a big
chunk of life.
Unhinged, a messiah
drops dead―
at the door of equity.
How vain, was the
ego of man!
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