Satish Verma, 18 sierpnia 2021
Blue moon of white night, wants―
to bring down the sky
in a spiritual bliss.
Talking of reincarnation,
I am skinned alive, like
a cadaver, talking ceaselessly.
You are burning sans fire.
In absence of god, you
become a god father
to a beautiful progeny.
Leave aside the lineage.
On the horizion, a flock
of swans was returning
home to spread the watercolors.
The recluse comes out from the oblivion
to greet the inevitable.
Satish Verma, 17 sierpnia 2021
Black names―
were on list. Bring the
French chalk to wipe out
the white board.
The list was still breathing
though you had faked your death,
and the birds had left their nests
for new perches.
Does it hurt you, when
you go hungry? Even the grass
was green. The prince
was watching the apple fall.
Who will climb the
brown hills of moon, to
witness the earth drop in
withering trails?
Satish Verma, 16 sierpnia 2021
Let's try a
human logic for
a monkey heart.
The knowledge was
becoming a
dangerous thing.
I know and
you know that we
were sworn enemies.
Not like a
flamethrower
come as a bee.
Satish Verma, 15 sierpnia 2021
Stealing from your
eyes a visibly
upset moon.
I believe, it was not a
tough stand to shut the door
before wearing the mask.
You will not cry,
for my sake. You don't
want to grow old with the pain.
Who will have the last laugh?
Misogyny. Moon was changing the gender
from the west to the east.
On the lonely road
a peacock spreads the beautiful wings
and starts a dance.
Finding a mate becomes
a catholic thing.
Satish Verma, 13 sierpnia 2021
Sometimes you want to
walk to the gallows,
for my sins.
It was a big fight
over the organ stop, but
I had a different version.
Living in mirror had
become a charm. At least
you were visiting me daily.
Like sniper fire.
It was a volley of bad names
for a nameless, nearer home.
In quest of fear to
understand the unknown, I
have sacrificed my birds of night.
Satish Verma, 12 sierpnia 2021
No more partisanship
with hatchet.
Better if you come like
a scorpion to give a taste.
You can hang the darkness
of space―
daring the sun.
Gone blank. This was
a self-inflicted wound to
attain liberation.
No use to remain deeply
flawed in the jaws
of a croc.
Once, high you sail, for
resurrection, faith
tumbles down very fast.
Satish Verma, 11 sierpnia 2021
Make me wild―
weirdly ethereal. An abstract
pain will unite us―
after the scarring.
It was difficult the body
count, lamenting
for the limbless faith. What
would you do with the
tinned sardines now?
The wasting must stop.
We are not able to catch the―
spring. Cold war was settling
in space. Where were new worlds beyond the stars?
I am still trying to―
write only three words verse.
Man was shrinking
and so was tall god. The
mooned eyes were closing.
Satish Verma, 10 sierpnia 2021
You floundered.
No god poems.
You don't want to destroy the world.
Doing the things.
Lifting my words from―
the falls.
The implicit enemy
was in between―
the truths.
Nothing belongs to you.
Hence you don't lose the game.
Satish Verma, 9 sierpnia 2021
A weird solatium
was offered by putting
off the lights.
The animal inside you,
wants to apologise
for remaining pure.
The pastoral grief of―
a wayward priest―
comes to fore to be stared at.
Lessons inspired by
light were waiting
for the dark night.
And a tiger mauls
a hidden lecher
in the deep bush.
Satish Verma, 8 sierpnia 2021
A broken step―
halts me. I move towards
you at the inner call.
Clockwise, going
sensual, you turn into
a greek fire.
Make me angry and suffer.
Don't carry the legacy
of darkpeers.
Reading my poetry for
a while, you fumbled
tracing your fingers on some beautiful words.
The moon would
shine tonight to share the crocuses.
I may write your name
on scented winds.
Easy lips. Were your trying to say something? Yet
you fall on ancient adage.
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