Satish Verma, 20 listopada 2021
Talking to Morpheus
when moon was asleep.
I was not guilty of
waking you up.
In splinters, the man
goes deaf and dumb.
A violin was thrown
on the track to stop the music.
Death becomes a finger,
points at you.
The rodes become blind.
There was no D-Day for exit.
Satish Verma, 19 listopada 2021
A blighted ovum
demands a ransom for life.
Unhinged, you rub with―
the command and
set free a poem.
Some very visceral fears
hold your hand and
ask to write an epitaph
of yourself.
Unboiling the egg in
irreverent manner, you
proceed to make death,
out of eternal entangled questions.
The sheer stress unmakes
you into a creator
and you begin to spawn
a new religion of violence.
Satish Verma, 18 listopada 2021
Will I know you―
by unknowing myself in bleak―
moments of giving
wings to you?
Raising your legacy; losing
my words, I block
a masterstroke. Something
was wrong. I was walking alone.
Disrobing a covered
statue, the anguish of
incorrectness hangs.
Enduring a song of―
drums, calling the sun from clouds
for a wounded earth.
What was truth
in jungle of beasts? Any
humming left on the lips of trees?
Satish Verma, 17 listopada 2021
An earthy scent
rises, when―
you rain in me.
The hole in
heart. Naked
as salt of eyes.
My roving boat
sinks near
the banks of ashes.
Pure and white
like snow
you fall on my lips.
Satish Verma, 16 listopada 2021
It is.
What you don't think,
and don't want to share. Nothing.
Kamikaze― divine wind
destroying your crotch.
Saffron― dried stigmas.
The hiss of a dead shake,
kitchen's flavor for celibates.
Many roads to reach
the mannequins. God is
one. Hydra's tentacles catch
the believers.
Unwholesome.
I won't taste the violence
of celestial bamboos.
Satish Verma, 15 listopada 2021
Break your silence.
Stay for me.
Face-to-face, after
my first inning,
prey for me.
To know the whole truth
I will change the
ecosystem.
The fake reals,
would become the change,
you never wanted to see.
Smitten by your verses
I was in distress. The
sexless army of thoughts
stand in snaky queues―
beating the big gods.
A nickel for your
eyes. Why they have become
fathomless?
Satish Verma, 14 listopada 2021
That mad truth.
The unborn was knifed
long back. Now you throw―
the net in the crowd.
I had found you
after the centuries of conflict―
in small eyes, looking
for the stolen myths.
I want to hold your
face one day and bury it
in my tears. It should not have
happened in the jungle
of jinxed plays.
The unmarked tree. I
had picked up the fallen fruit
to taste you. Would you
find me in dark?
Satish Verma, 13 listopada 2021
Moment of truth.
Bougainvilleas
on grass.
A visible absence.
I was searching―
you in poems.
Your fluid eyes.
My moon-clouds
ready to crash on the land.
In my cupped hands
I collect the tears
of the sky.
Satish Verma, 12 listopada 2021
Muzzle the ape, that
bleeds the tall tree,
tearing apart the blue birds.
I saw it coming.
I was overwrought; watching a
beheading― of the innocent,
in the town square.
People standing in queues to
grab the voodoos.
When you will end my woes
basking in the glory of blood?
O god, take away my chips,
my papers,
my pen.
I am tired of this deceit of man.
Everybody walks like a saint
on the holy banks
where flows the river of tears.
Satish Verma, 11 listopada 2021
In twilight
the sickle moon,
waits for the dark.
What a kill.
Roses in bloom
watch haying.
Halix of life
uncoils, to warm
the man.
The butterflies
shiver in sun.
Fine weather.
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