Satish Verma, 7 października 2021
Asking for privacy, a
green snake becomes deviant,
and turns lunatic.
Lunacy demands innovation―
like atavism, returning
to primitiveness.
The fear becomes
your enemy. Instinct develops
to kill, to slay.
Again a beheading, you
wash your hands
with the blood of a god.
And dedicate your
life to a goddess of bodypiercing
crime, soaring high.
Satish Verma, 5 października 2021
A solemn moon
talking to hills,
plunged in pain of tainted love.
I steer quietly out
of this queasiness, did't want
to accept the risqué.
A spider was climbing
on a wall to weave
a sticky web for a baby face.
Like an aspen leaf
you tremble in even a slight
breeze of a beautiful thought.
The garden lizard
changes the color. Who was responsible
for the ruins of temples
and mosques?
Let me talk to the god, the god
standing at my door
engaging the harvest moon.
Satish Verma, 4 października 2021
Of many gods,
I chose the rock-cut Buddha.
At night we would talk daily.
Like at talkathon―
I will accept his grace,
to follow my inner voice.
I will narrate about the
walking giants, silent birds,
and weeping Ashokas.
In togetherness we had
separated with hate in
aloneness.
The love bites don't
excite anymore. The religion
of sex and―
religion of war have
become one. I will not
recite any adage now.
Satish Verma, 3 października 2021
Before you eat
your words,
smear the dust of rose―
on your eyes.
The incense will blend
with your vision.
Don't walk like
a thief in the house.
Moon will face the night.
The bell rings
not. Tonight temple
god oversleeps.
Satish Verma, 2 października 2021
I plant my last kiss
on the wall of mausoleum,
and turn back to face the
inevitable transparency.
Like a birthmark―
you stick to me for an eternity.
Honeyed tongue swaps
a blue. I am not a path,
only a candle in the wind.
Moon-washed your face
swims in my black eyes.
I search my genes
in you, for an answer.
In poetic jargon, with
broken wings, I take a flight
to that horizon, where
my aura ends and your spell begins.
Blameless-you spin,
and break into hundred of shards.
They become stars. I remain
stranded at sunset.
Satish Verma, 1 października 2021
You come like undersea
quake, hitting
the sleeping moon.
No headlines,
no bleeding hearts,
just masochism.
Drinking angst
and spirit, from― a
Venus in exile.
After holy scripts
drifting out
with battle scars.
Satish Verma, 30 września 2021
The unthinkable,
has happened.
I am still alive.
After the harvest
moon, there were―
many aspirants,
to reach the Mars,
when a lynx left the
pug marks on their chests.
First snow went
deep in asylum.
All gates were locked.
Satish Verma, 29 września 2021
Take me in moonlight
when it is dark, outreaching
every ache.
I will not ask you anything
when you are on prowl in cobra night.
The womb crumbles.
Salamanders will not endure the flames.
Elemental soul wants to
stay in water.
Living in a wax palace
with honeybees inviting sparks.
My religion wants to change its name.
Cold touch, I will wear
a shawl of slaughtered scapegoat.
Don't call me on the name of a
messenger.
You know there was no
dearth of lies.
We shall meet when our hands start trembling.
Satish Verma, 28 września 2021
No wintering.
I have come to stay
warm-blooded.
Recreating the
swelled knobs of
loaves.
Excruciating
ordeal, had made
the bones strong.
Now I sit
quietly to hear
the morning bird.
Satish Verma, 27 września 2021
You decide first-whom
to blame? As if I am―
on threshold of denial
and anger.
When to kill a polluter,
who was deployed to―
protect the virginity of blue ocean?
The stealth fighter becomes a fake.
They meet like polygamists
exchanging the rings to remain
unfaithful. The untested blood
was a carrier.
On the brink, comes the army
of black ants, waking the lover
in evening light. You should not
stir. Greed will make the sleeper move.
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