poetry

poetry
Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 february 2019

An Opening

I will color 
the sky, grieving for the 
departed moon. 
 

 
Tossing my words 
onto the lake, to bring back 
my baby pink. 
 

 
Night I had woven 
a gold pattern on the bed. 
Memory will know.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 february 2019

Cruel Bonhomie

Like a meteorite streaking 
through the sky, iron 
and nickel, for a proxy collision 
with hidden destiny. 
 
It was the post trauma 
syndrome, after the great 
divide of breast, lifting 
the nipples. 
 
The lofty peak crumbles. 
There will be the scare 
around, to grow the poppies 
on the mounds again. 
 
Are you ready now 
for emasculation? The 
legacy will, on its own, pass 
onto alternative sins.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 february 2019

Soliciting

Come to me 
like never ending pain. 
I will wait till eternity. 
 

 
Wing pierced, like 
butterfly amidst cacti, 
still trying to reach your lips. 
 

 
I carry the fragrance 
of fallen jessimines on grass, 
white as the morning snow.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 15 february 2019

Starving

The who was 
inside you. 
I want to discover, 
a foam-born deity, 
killing the moon. 
 
You destroyed 
me in the poems. 
I cannot weave the 
moonlight on the 
jessamines. 
 
Can you send 
a message to Mars? 
It is too crowded on 
the earth. There was 
no room for the muse.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 february 2019

The Syntax

Coming over here 
to find me, in abstract meaning? 
I was very much there in your eyes. 
 

 
A ghost appears 
on your lips, when you explore 
the silence of the road. 
 

 
Learning the grammar 
without prepositions; how will 
you reach my words.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 9 february 2019

Becoming Myself

A ghost truth 
levels down, 
the traffic. You enter 
into catatonic stage. 
 
Rage and anguish 
will ask, 
for the price of blood 
flown down the river. 
 
Listening 
with the eyes. Leaffall, 
luteus, music of descent 
on grass. 
 
A dust storm 
settles on sill. I will 
look through the window, at 
a setting sun, unadored.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 8 february 2019

A Small Story

Talking of obscenity 
you were undressing 
to show the scars. 
 
It was and it was not 
a display of is. Little 
raw wound. 
 
The lungs will not take 
this insult and scream 
in full horror. 
 
One collapsed faith, after 
the god failed him 
to climb a ladder. 
 
I am still convalescing 
from the gunshot injury, 
when you fired at a blackbird.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 7 february 2019

Fealty

Doing nothing, for no 
obvious reason, engaging 
the travails of self-watch, I do 
not want to confront the propensity 
of withdrawl. 
 
The elder pain blooms, again 
like Ipomea. Will not stand the 
bright sun’s gaze, I will sail― 
out between the blackened 
teeth and stammering 
words. 
 
It sucks, the female snake. 
The phloem, the flora. A tree kills 
its own birds. Cannot ambulate 
tender promises. A stricture 
chokes the poem. Double- 
edged truth lifts the weight. 
 
Moon knows the art of giving. 
Sends the blood tears.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 6 february 2019

Nowheres

Attending to my laments, 
reading a poem to myself 
I could not foresee an incoming missile. 
 

 
How could you change the world 
when a black and white magpie 
writes the script of life? 
 

 
A god once told me 
in whispers, he wants to 
die in the shadeless sun.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 5 february 2019

Secretly

A sniper was around. 
I did not want to rush 
and kiss the jessamine. 
 
Last night, it was a 
retributory offer 
to put off the candle. 
 
I am here to stay 
for prudence, speaking 
the dialect of the nameless. 
 
I survive the fetishes 
of light. O unknown, I 
live in darkness. 
 
Moon was my solemn- 
pledge. I had always stayed 
in the house of truth.
 


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