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Satish Verma, 16 august 2019
No Demagogue
This was not a witch
or witchcraft, striking
a pose to entice the sleep.
The grass will not―
listen the earthly
eavesdropping on moon.
Some extra neutral
wine for a resilient poet
who will refuse to die.
My color was not black
nor white. It had the
golden hue.
Your nails were very sharp
digging for a *Digambra
on my bare chest.
Satish Verma, 17 august 2019
Old Maxims
This was a twisted ladder
for reduction of poverty,
which climbs the steps during
methane breach.
An absent presence will
snatch away, your unconscious
surrender. The scent had
made a wall of its own.
A summer fall incites the
book makers. The naming was
a secret bet. The dead will
never recall the skeletons.
Spawning an army of robots,
will you go to the volcano mount
to offer a living bait?
Satish Verma, 18 august 2019
New Invasion
Nestling in the arms of
blue sky, a young moon was asking
the questions―like the pages of moth-eaten
book― why did the blood ties
are ripped apart with the passage of time?
Of the same poles, at the
axis of rotation― two celestial bodies―
would not come near each other?
Following the heels of the
hunter, a small dog star sniffs at
the earth, a pale blue existence?
The entropion overwhelms. The
lashes were scarring the
vision?
The all was not one. I am
still standing at the gate,
bleeding like sun.
Satish Verma, 19 august 2019
Taking The Odds
An amniotic fluid initiates
the moon to the thunderstorm―
as you climb the tide.
Like a stag― opening the
summer, browsing on
the daisies.
It takes sometime
to sink. This was―
the peacock hour.
A finch will land―
on my shoulder and
look into my eyes, ritualizing it.
The glow was real
in your hair,
borrowed from the sun.
Satish Verma, 20 august 2019
For The Heritage
For the beasts and men,
a transition will not work.
This was explicit cap―
the polar ice was melting.
He will not take the slights
for the moon. He will
not go far from the eyes
of stars.
Not enough, the astringent
microbes were peeling off
your mask. Sometimes you want
a frugal strangulation.
Incredible. The words
were making a mound, out―
of the space, left by
the departed fever.
Satish Verma, 22 august 2019
Be The Human
Not giving or taking.
I will share you―
in water.
Believing was not significant.
I was holding you
to implode.
Not your words, not
my script, will translate
the thumbprint.
A time comes, when
you become your own father,
to carve out the pure truth.
The duality bothers
a lot. You want to convert
the myriad into one.
Satish Verma, 6 september 2019
Seeking Carefully
Where do you stand―
in the crowd, for the love of a cause―
your feet cannot measure the ache
of the earth, respecting the rhythm
of a lone survivor.
Can you believe in the fall of a titan?
Stranded in accuracy
for a salt lick for
a zipless mouth wide open.
Intuiting,
what the flesh would not say.
And I keep standing by the midriff to see the face.
Satish Verma, 2 june 2019
Reconciled
A visible evil stands
upright. I did not want to
die before the death.
My needs were small and few
but I am at peace, breaking
water without shaming the earth.
I will now make a moon
out of the mystery of mass cremation
of rose buds.
The small recess of the soul
mends the wall of the flesh to become
a stable house.
The black crypt, maintains
a secret. Here lived a wounded
soldier once upon a time.
Satish Verma, 15 june 2019
No Saviour
Out of ambit― you resume
the surfing again― on
yellow tulips―
in misting valley.
One who will not bless
the seed― will sit
in shadow of hunger.
Do not touch the―
impossible blue of the
eyes, unhunted by the tears.
Snare or be snared. If
there was a flint and
the steel― do you think the
spark will be faraway?
In silent night, I will open
the crypt to have a look again―
at the wornout cloak of a paragon.
Satish Verma, 16 june 2019
Scattered Thoughts
Coming to an end the
consecration. The land will
not give you any god.
Only the demons will come in your dreams.
If it were window, the
street will send the black
noises in your house.
I will not wait
for snow-melting.
The slum was going to be
sliced off.
Wet from the rainfall,
the grain cannot be milled
and you will not eat my sprouts.
I cannot sail now.
It must be very dark
and the glossary
very foul.
Satish Verma, 18 june 2019
Will You Leave Me?
I did not mean to hurt.
Do not try to flute―
drinking the lianas,
wearing a fatigue. Then comes―
the shoot. Like a scarecrow
I sway― the slug― passes through me.
You ask me to turn over―
the death mask―
giving a smile. There was no
reprisal. Must bring under reins―
the pounding heart― I cannot talk.
Alone to mend my grief, the
scaled loss of bliss. Do not want to
use any metal. Poverty becomes
my strength. Fears will stand with me.
I am empty like a glass.
Satish Verma, 19 june 2019
No Message
You have kept the
script― to age in dark,
silent night.
Drawn into the upheaval,
of grains―
ready to strike the mouth.
Nameless wheels were out
to carry the gay pride.
I am not amused of the day.
Who was naturally―
born― breathlessly, holding
the flag, to spite the clan.
A pink window was
stolen from the green house.
The light now burns black.
Satish Verma, 20 june 2019
Change Of Life
Becoming wise to
your faults. I will not wear
any talisman.
No fireworks were needed
to celebrate the return
of the sane fakir.
Standing up― was the biggest
ideal of the oppressed. I
repeat the act.
Taking the helm― without
retribution― was a challenge
thrown by the dark.
I have come to be reborn
in the name of symbols
broken.
Satish Verma, 21 june 2019
Virtually Untrue
Lethal mix
of blood ties― before
a fugue delivers its tremors.
A rage visits with the dark voices...
Reverberating in death chamber.
Heat seeking― the missile
goes straight into the heart of the Himalayas.
I am still recovering―
from the eternal fires― of biligual nights.
I am transfixed―
in my shoes― facing shoulder
fired― a sentence ejecting its hate.
Satish Verma, 22 june 2019
Where The Road Ends
Since you knew, ―
it was going to cast a shadow.
I let the question hang in air.
Death was known, ― only to man?
My suffering begins today. Adding―
my two cents, I go wild. Too few
white blood cells cruising in the veins.
Like lightning strike― I put myself
in harm’s way.
Bright yellow―
the gold and fire, absolutely opaque
decimating the drooping primula.
Impulsive, ― I raise the lid
of blazing rage. A divine exposure.
A millennium melts
beneath the carpet of snow.
Satish Verma, 23 june 2019
Resemblance
It bends― the chastity―
the illicit vows. O, let me
become an artisan. I will
ensue― a new harvest of sandalwood.
Don’t light the joss sticks.
There is no abstract presence―
of him. Nobody knows―
you, better than me.
Search the―
magnum opus and you will
find that― man has failed…
to clear the debris of the Fort.
Strange happenings, still
take place. Grass is still green …
in solitude, a poem
takes birth.
Satish Verma, 24 june 2019
His Or Her Majesty
That inner probe―
and access― was the need. I
promised myself, not to
sail on the waves.
It was difficult― the way
of birth, to deliver the truth.
You must invoke―
the legacy of the reals― against the fakes.
Factuality, your image
will not suffer. I will witness
the ultimate happening. The
testament will not be written on the beach.
Between ” I “ and “you” lies
the gulf of ancestry. The
unknowing will make it
easy to understand the glacial fall.
Satish Verma, 14 june 2019
Self-Portrature
A freak hailstorm of
proposition, makes you―
deaf and mute. The sex
orientation― will not remain the same.
It was not pink― it was not
blue. A thunder breaks the
roof― of calligraphy. A
beautiful face― goes manic.
About the harvesting― I
would say ― it was all
humbug. You can wear a gem
in your eyes― and still not go stone blind.
The prayer will have a
summer wedding. All the―
lavenders will bring all the
blues and all the mauves.
Satish Verma, 13 june 2019
The Dancing Tale
I do not remain happy
with noises of wisdom.
Time was running out on me
to know myself.
No sensory cognizance. I
touch you with my invisible
hands, stroking the hair
to dislodge the moon.
Ashes lay strewn. River
was overflowing from the
banks of limbs. I will not
come near the unfathomable
depth of a chasm, between
good and bad. Out of the bed
of roses a snake uncoils.
Praise the dark. It in night.
Satish Verma, 3 june 2019
A Sombre Moon
This is for the
smaller gods sitting
in rains, seeking asylum in
snow.
Nobody knows the
fate of sunken erotica
when the glacier
melts.
A wild rose
sends the thorns to
prick your conscience.
Let the death walk
in sleep.
Satish Verma, 4 june 2019
Faraway
How much you can carry,
carving a deep gorge
during last rites
of a river?
It was a skunky remain
of the civilized terrain
gone berserk.
Oh pilgrim, don’t come
again to wash your feet
in the snow of
painted storks.
Hiding behind the tattoos
my raw galaxy perspires
climbing the graveyard
of old songs.
Satish Verma, 5 june 2019
Sheared Off
How much you were honest
with you?
The poems had singed
the eyebrows. I am filled
with salt.
Would you know what was
missing between the lines?
Afterlife will not bother me.
My image and me
will not superimpose.
An apology for extradition
of my agony. Trapped, my
mirror has broken. I
will tear off the moon
from the window, when the room
is dark.
Satish Verma, 6 june 2019
I Am Not Afraid
There was a road to landslips.
Why would the mountain break
for consanguinity?
You had spurned the hovering
clouds altering the means
of communication―
by adopting the lightning
for jousting with new gods.
As the thin cobweb flies before the eyes―
I go for insomnia to talk
with invisible in dark. In
moment’s lapse I become grey.
A life’s learning makes a
fool of me, hurting myself
in moonlight. The
abandonment brings fear
of me. I am ready to go
to a sheepeater carnivore and lie still.
Satish Verma, 7 june 2019
After The Snow Storm
It tumbles down. The real.
Heels start hurting.
Once upon a night, there
was a red moon, which used to hang
on your head and I
would watch something beyond.
No outburst of profanity
will take place, when you were
dissecting a triangle―
of rainbows. I will not
assemble the waist of a tall tree
after the fruit fall.
Gone with the snow, my
temple, my god. I am now
waiting for the looters of rings.
Satish Verma, 8 june 2019
No Love Song
In black midnight,
the white moon, like a nun
sits stonely.
The sliding moon is toxic
and you are not ready to
die for the theme.
The high priests will
weave the faux mantras to
invoke the goddess of wealth.
The debt pervades in every
relief. I survive the ignominy
of not touching a yogi.
And you, little brown bread,
will not feed the thousands
who come clamouring for a bite.
Satish Verma, 9 june 2019
Rising Rage
After the blast, the
morning gets wise, and
does not spill the sun.
And the dead will not
come back to celebrate
the dark after the rage.
There, on the white peaks,
the splattered blood will
draw the face of assassin.
Do not enter the dome of
seething screams. The priest
hangs by the bell.
O, my brother, why we
have become coldblooded after
thousand years of pilgrimage?
Satish Verma, 10 june 2019
Unbegotten
Shedding the knowledge
I was aware of emptiness,
that will allow me
to watch from afar―
the message coming from
the locked doors.
Getting nearer the gorge
you want to look at your spitting image―
in water. I hinge an old frame
to find me in baby face. Did you
see your future visits to
cauldron of life?
You never wanted to become
a god of wayfarers. A tinge
of stupidity was evident to renew
your faults to remain human.
Satish Verma, 12 june 2019
The Dancing Tale
I do not remain happy
with noises of wisdom.
Time was running out on me
to know myself.
No sensory cognizance. I
touch you with my invisible
hands, stroking the hair
to dislodge the moon.
Ashes lay strewn. River
was overflowing from the
banks of limbs. I will not
come near the unfathomable
depth of a chasm, between
good and bad. Out of the bed
of roses a snake uncoils.
Praise the dark. It in night.
Satish Verma, 25 june 2019
Night’s Song
Grazing on the clouds,
moon was moving
in a daze.
Someone will milk it
for the poor, who will not
sing for the inevitable.
Witch hazel will stop the
bleed of unholy wars
between the diminutive fidelities.
This was the beginning
of a dialogue― meant for
the deaf― who will listen with the eyes.
There was no consolation
for a man who lost his finger
while searching his ring.
Satish Verma, 26 june 2019
Earth Is Moving
It is pouring.
You can feel, smell and touch
the rain. A river of qualms―
starts swelling. Watercress―
will decide the fate of water.
Do not consent to switch off
the amplitude. You cannot drink the sky.
Keeping the lexicon― of road map in order.
The scope of communiqué
expires, if you do not offer the apology
for dousing the snow with
conspiracy and setting it on fire.
A daring attack takes place
to avenge the insult of mountains.
Satish Verma, 10 july 2019
The Sorcery
I can do it, hold the wasp
in my palm― without grains
and short of fructose.
Layer by layer eggs
will leak― wetting
the vibrating stigma.
Neat abuses, will suck
the milk of nodding thistle.
No marrow comes out to save the elixir.
The hoofers, without
stirrups were running blindly
after the fallen apple.
The sage sways sadly
in the passive winds. It’s aroma
enters the stream of sex.
Satish Verma, 11 july 2019
Crash-Landing
The space in between―
the mayhem and spiritual hour;
was not much, but a spitting image,
of swapping with sun bites― was
evident without remorse.
The ice storm was raging.
Blueberries hang from your
eyes, to bluff me. I draw the curtain
and lit the fire to bring in―
the bride of vengeance.
A charitable act, to clear
the needles from the doll: No black
magic will work now. I am clean
and pure, will not cut a
slice of breast, for the red milk.
Satish Verma, 12 july 2019
Future Tense
The reflection was never
complete.
I was trying, was trying
to understand me,
in absence of you.
Looking into the persona
making a saint―
out of sexual surrogacy.
The human gene―
transcripted, on the borrowed womb?
Will you now speak for the fear?
I will never know you
in dimlight―
of suspicions.
Are you a complete man now?
Satish Verma, 13 july 2019
A Discreet Failure
A midnight darkness―
threatens the purple moon,
standing in awe.
There were two poems―
in your hands― which you
wanted to read in my face.
One for the asking―
and one for the moral defeat.
Do you have anything else to narrate?
A thunderbird makes―
a landing in my insomnia―
to scatter the dreams.
The insane world returns
the gift of the pagoda tree. Buddha
will not come back.
Satish Verma, 14 july 2019
Again A Sheep Walk
I will be kissing in proxy―
at the dark side of
the moon, where my twin crashed.
The cracks had emerged
in the fiery zone― the flames
reaching the zenith of blue, killer sky.
A tamed hematoma,
speaks― for the ripped open brain.
There was nobody left to be whole.
Survivors were the gift
of miracle. A saint starts
abusing the stars.
The god’s temple lies―
in ruins, buried under the sand,
debris and the dead faith.
Satish Verma, 15 july 2019
A Riddle Unsolved
Something novel:
a good augury―
creeping to augment,
an esoteric fall.
I repeat the mistake of knowing too much.
Submodified. The man―
still wants to bite the tongue
on the name of truth.
It was very unpleasant
to see a hummingbird
becoming a sphinx.
No need to commit a suicide after homing,
to a blazing icon in the urn.
Satish Verma, 16 july 2019
Through The Ashes
Outside, a discreet moon
was rising, breathing―
dark. I was wary of strange clouds
of unknown scents.
Like a blue absence of nothing,
from nothing to emptiness.
The religion of unspoken
prayers― I start the journey,
to void. From there a turbulence will begin.
Blinking eyes― will find
the answer to a no-question, at
the end of the conflict―
when the face is lost to sadness.
You will not take off
your shoes.
Satish Verma, 17 july 2019
A Space, A Dot, A Line
The hesitant―
dawn cracks, as the
river of darkness squirms.
The moon―
was in last, to leave
the howling bank.
It looms large, a ―
brain-dead future. I think
I am forgetting my age.
You must face the
dying earth― sustained―
on prayers only.
This is the height
of dilemma. Why―
poems were hungry?
Satish Verma, 18 july 2019
Skirting The Book
This was man made,
the blue-chip―
changing the landscape.
Fanatically you cling to mother
terra firma like a baby primate.
Incontrovertibly―
I am going back to look
like my fathers,
with twisted contours.
Forward― facing, but looking behind.
I climb up the blue,
to unsolve the murder and go
into deep meditation to reject
the gods. The gold mine was flooded
by unprecdented rains of hands and footsteps.
Satish Verma, 9 july 2019
After Meeting God
You should not be present―
everywhere, O God. Pull down,
all the shutters of your temples.
I am mortified, of a
hidden hand, that gives
spurious― sugar coated hymns.
A hometown crowd
assembles at the door of the―
palace to hear the arrival.
What was the natural
descent made of? A cyber attack
was the most desirable thing.
A crypt sets you free―
from the engraved sermons.
All night I will sit on the vigil, for a vision.
The book was blank
for a goodnight deal. I will
not cross any unwritten poem.
Satish Verma, 8 july 2019
It Kills It Kills
Eaten up, by wanderlust―
I started my sleepwalks
cheating my dreams.
The grace of knife was there...
it did not open in daylight.
Night was the brilliant host.
When do I meet you―
behind the moon― when stars
were not twinkling out of fear?
The rare gift of footnotes
was sufficient to explain―
the meaning of abstract pain.
You will not treat the stings―
very unkindly. They were
meant to awaken you from letting it go.
Satish Verma, 27 june 2019
Irony Of Gist
The finger and a ring―
a story of bonhomie;
if you live precariously.
Difficult when you are perceptively nimble.
I would like to take off―
any clinger.
If you live in a crate, ―
there is no escape.
The pollination has stopped.
The washed bees will not go anywhere―
in this rain.
The bumbler will strike
when you are eating the poem.
Satish Verma, 28 june 2019
Take Up Your Book
After the apocalypse,
the fiefdoms were growing―
buttercups― with golden flowers,
cupshaped.
Anemones and hellebores/
aconites and clematises/
famed for making lethal―
poisonous seeds.
So much went through us.
A billion years after― there will be
no life/ on earth. But we
have become lifeless now―
the poems incomplete.
It was getting smaller―
and smaller― the tall man.
Satish Verma, 29 june 2019
Toxicity
First listen to your heart.
No poetry will walk tonight―
without fear.
Sometimes you will find―
words will not descend/to heal
your ache of unslept poems. Hovering/
like the obsessive hawks.
The migratory, adjutant/
storks, had not come to roost
on the tall tree―
naked as they are.
Democracy always/sends
erotica/to take off your mind
from the trivial subjects.
Fireworks resume the celebrations
for the fugitive/who returned
home after drinking absinthe.
Satish Verma, 30 june 2019
The Right Moment
Tell me,
how would you die
when the call comes?
A hollow skin―
with no viscera― underneath.
Will you cry―
while breaking away from the earth―
carrying your own urn?
Elysian vision―
was not very clear
and Styx was full of bodies.
There was no space left
to celebrate the liberation.
A parchment paper
with your fading name printed;
after the petition of right
to exist, undying
in deeds.
Satish Verma, 3 july 2019
A Paragon
Like a starfish― you are
not a star, always opening
the shells― with your tube fest
to find the pearls.
Predator― you will attack
in a crowd― when it is dark―
coming out of your skin.
Flesk for flesh. It was your dynasty.
I cannot reconcile. I cannot
play the game of chess―
and checkmate the opponent.
Will wait for a nemesis.
Unorthodox. The nature
reveals its move― in the galaxies.
The earth is in―
mid-life crisis.
Satish Verma, 4 july 2019
Against Nobody
Do you need a divine witness―
if I abdicate a claim
on you, saluting the dark?
Drawing the ire of a void,
the violence becomes visible―
when earth starts dying.
The completeness― will give
you a rude welcome― after
you were landuishing in wait.
An intern surrogacy―
defies the sexual assault of the
gimmick. Why did not you
swear in the moon?
In jitters. I start―
making circles again― and again.
Will I remember―
who am I?
Satish Verma, 5 july 2019
Karmic Influence
Under surveillance, the vegetable―
lives on ventilator.
All doors were shut― for the
dark― to remain inside.
The spastic breathing with―
rising chest, delivers the
nuances of death. Are you
sure― it was easier to live?
Asking the destiny to wait―
at the door. You can write
your own epitaph―
on the dust― for posterity.
I am coming home to collect―
your letters― you were
writing to me daily― but
never dared to post.
Satish Verma, 6 july 2019
Negation Of What
Living,
in the wounds,
like a gas dragged into
the black hole.
Bedeviling the light.
There are no winners in this war.
Corona will not sit
on any head.
There was ambivalence
in the robust thrust.
The hard x-rays will
burn the thoughts.
Do not go on chasing the
grazed genre. The style
will bring back the questions
which had no answers.
Satish Verma, 7 july 2019
Gold Coins
A hate apart, living in embraces,
one night― you find the
bridge collapsed― in the
forest of skins.
In exasperation― I watch
the face of the adultery. I
will know― I am going too fast
for the hypocrisy.
Why you were becoming too
cozy to the silence of the necks.
The little feet are not―
able to run for the morning star.
Shutting the lamps. No moths
will descend on the books― no
bleeding of the verse, so
you can become empty of arithmetic.
Satish Verma, 19 july 2019
The Benevolence
Borderless pain was
said untold. I am writing
a new chapter of night.
The somatic scent―
does not rise now, for the peaks
dissecting the snowy falls.
Racial climbdown
brings friction amids the uniqueness
of downtrodden dolls.
There was an intense―
urge to rip open the endless sky―
to find the secret of blackness.
The fabled light,
fails to distinguish between
eyes and ears. A blind man
will not find the shape
of truth by noises.
Satish Verma, 7 september 2019
Great Defiance
A smear campaign starts
against the ladder, which permits―
the ascension, but leaves the spaces in between,
of dark. You stand still.
The hunger becomes the mouth―
of rags. I will come and collect
some numbers.
It was useless to hunker―
after the game. The fear will ultimately
start a monologue.
On bees, I will build a
synopsis. The sleuth always falters
when the moon hides.
A canned script draws the
scorn. The player had become grey―
in dark.
A bunch of mushrooms,
like tall girls, standing
in wind, gossiping.
Satish Verma, 26 october 2019
No Explanation
How difficult it was to
remain a simple truth,
as passive grass
with no frills.
I was ready to talk
heart to heart.
You cannot stand all the ink,
writing, simple verse, furtively.
What was eating you up,
I asked the milkweed.
"On this summer, monarchs
were not coming to breed"
it said.
I felt the unease. Grappled with the
amount of pain, at tiny thoughts.
The scale and brutality
of the times, the throats slit open.
Like a clam you shut up.
Satish Verma, 7 november 2019
A Keyhole Surgery
Sometimes, I want to write
a folk poem, without name.
Anonymously, you want to
postpone the commitment
to accept the murder
of yourself,
the griever.
The towering belief―
that there were skeletons
on the grains, as the words
become verses.
A snowy virgin
will take a knife, to bring
down the stars
when you sing centuries
of love.
Satish Verma, 9 november 2019
Of Innocence And Black Magic
The evil city? You
become the smallest
light.
The lamb did not save
the godman. I was
praying loudly.
It was falling apart.
The concept, the belief
the palace.
Years roll by. Until
the priest was shot down
on the street.
You marvel at the
turning of the mountain.
How do you climb down the salt?
Satish Verma, 12 november 2019
Endless Yearning
The thirst will know,
the river was there.
To lie on the grass was ultimate.
It was not the green,
it was not the blue,
but desire had the keyhole to look
at the fine sands,
where you stand to find the
elixir of life.
A crackling of joint, awakens
you. You will not wait
for the rains to come and overwhelm
the permeable umbrella.
A fluttering butterfly
knows, how to become floppy
and dangle like a dead leaf.
The stream was
drinking its own water.
Satish Verma, 14 november 2019
Rehabilitation
Trying to bring the change
with bleeding silver.
As it is/was, this world.
You may not agree to it.
The release of tension
from the cupped eyes? Will not
alter the secret deal.
There at the hemline,
bodies were scattered, slain
after the trespass.
The royal coin, flexes
its muscle. It will talk
through the muzzles.
Poorest of poor will become free.
Satish Verma, 15 november 2019
Stopping The Wheels
It was a free fall.
A plot seems to thicken.
I would never know.
Perhaps I will not explain,
how the test tube baby
slapped the sky.
The fun of unknowing
the secret of
a cold-blooded murder.
Suddenly the streetlamp
goes off. Night cracks
open to release the animal.
How a godman
becomes a werewolf?
The shadows are hovering.
Satish Verma, 16 november 2019
Ancient Echoes
Art of dying
comes, after
you listen to the siren song.
The intention
was to kill yourself,
non-violently, when
moon was hiding.
Man was changing the skyline. You can
redraw the landscape without hurting the grass.
Don't offer to sacrifice
the goat on the rock,
where the shipwrecks took place.
You burn that, what you
would not eat. The
assassination charges were true.
Satish Verma, 17 november 2019
Unhurting
Unshackled, the pallor moon
was lying still, in a white-
shroud of clouds, only face
visible, staring-
down languidly.
I have come afar,
from the whispering dark,
to annul my existence.
Your hands tremble,
carrying your name. The
magic of unsaid-
poems, working.
Life had been a Medusa.
The blues, the reds, the
greens, overbearing.
Scores will be settled
when moon,
goes down.
Satish Verma, 18 november 2019
Demanding Answers After The Chemical Attacks In Damascus
I was not afraid of the clock, ticking,
dividing your attention. A guarded
withdrawl of the statement, had
brought a comic relief to the distraught
vicitims.
Caving on guns, the
mustard cloud could wipe out
the entire generation.
The tender bodies
wrapped up in white cloaks,
ready to be sent back
to mother's womb: earth.
Why a sun wanted to
pass out gingerly?
Satish Verma, 19 november 2019
Empathy With Tattered Cape
Weep every don.
All the translations were fake.
The yellow peaks do not burn the
sky, now at sunrise.
I am forgetting myself―
in the gathering of my foes.
The pilgrim's path is now dirty.
You cannot transcend the―
dead remains of ancestry. In
the hutment, that was the end of view.
Nightblindness. I cannot fathom
out the saint descending a great depth.
From beastkinds I swim back
to save an unborn epic.
Satish Verma, 6 november 2019
Elusive Answers
Constrained.
The starlings will
not fly today.
There was a hole
in the sky.
The god particles will fall.
Drawing out
the blood of fallen―
angles, on the street.
Can you count
the sins of man?
We still celebrate the hate.
Satish Verma, 5 november 2019
Condensation
A butterfly
in a bell jar.
All I know, we understand
each other.
There was no sun
at midnight.
Only a blue black
dilemma of―
the sky, to burn
like human combustion.
I am ready to start
a journey with sunbeams.
Satish Verma, 27 october 2019
The Ground Gives Way
To blunt the offence
of beautiful pain
you stopped remaining good.
This was a perverse phenomenon
wearing the straight jacket
you try to become
a beast.
The glowing eyes will
send the message to dispose off
the headless body of
a marbled saint.
Someone has taken off
the eyes. You will need
a transplant of religion.
I am very unhappy.
Satish Verma, 28 october 2019
Not Accountable
A breast bomb,
makes a sudden lunge-
disfiguring the landscape
till your body was pulled out.
Your choices were very few.
Either you walk straight
or become a leaf of grass.
It will not work. A swift―
withdrawl from the controversial
marriage with ferocity,
as naked as moon. How
about the aspirant refusing
to sit for engraving in gold?
The salt bearers were coming
to act like gods.
Satish Verma, 29 october 2019
Holding Back
The credibility
of an apple
becoming an icon.
It draws first
blood, when you―
were sleeping.
It still matters:
thinking of milt
but sinking your ferry.
There was no epilogue.
A midsummer night.
I will forget
your name.
Standing in a
queue, you should not
punish yourself
becoming unmatched.
Satish Verma, 30 october 2019
Updated
I will not elaborate,
what I mean.
You have to dig out the treasure.
The puzzle was not new.
The memorial will be
buried in the sand.
A bloodbath will give―
the final touch to the
ground, less savoury now of inhumanity.
We celebrate the anniversary
to forget the world's
conflicts, man made.
Will you come in the
dark? The snipers are watching
out for the sparks of mercy.
Satish Verma, 31 october 2019
Invisible Ink
I will meet the moon
on the terrace,
when the dust settles on the
lids, smothering
the uncharted barricades.
Life had been full of dresses
to play the lead in
conflicts of alliance vows.
Like untouched goodbyes,
you hover around the exit―
to seek the blessings of dark.
In the glasshouse, you cannot
walk nude. The wounds, the scars
the burnt-out fabrics
will tell the truth.
A priest will invoke
the mercy of the vessel.
Satish Verma, 1 november 2019
Classical Entry
It takes billions of years
for ancient light to reach us and
rescue the trapped darkness.
You can hunt among rocks
in the palisades, behind
the ramparts.
There was an apocalypse.
Stem cells were ready
to repair the myelin―
searching ancestry.
It was a tense stand-off
between the headstone and a living dead.
Cannot repay the debt of blue
Sky, sending us
the warnings of catastrophy.
Satish Verma, 2 november 2019
Not Water Proof
Stoned to death.
The rooted plants had begun
to climb the mountain.
Very hot here.
Difficult to breath in.
Why lesser flamingos were landing
on dry lake?
They enter via back door.
The multi-tuberculates.
Why the man was
running away from the orchids?
Strange, our lineage was
getting interrupted, by
smoke screens.
Satish Verma, 3 november 2019
An Uncanny Feeling
I would let it go
anything now. Will not accept
any grace.
I am moving unfazed―
buttons apart. Let the night
descend.
A hired applause was not needed.
As the gorgeous earth plays its last tune.
I will wait in the lobby, to fail again.
There was no repeat
of the deciduous teeth,
coming back to chew your fingers.
The small steps you won't
take to bridge the unknown.
Scoping the language, watching
itself dying.
Satish Verma, 4 november 2019
Unbroken View
Segment by segment
the secret breaks. There was
no song afterwards.
A robin hops on the dirt road.
Time was scare.
Living water was escaping.
Visibility has not changed.
I walk in great agony
without you.
The fabric was loosing
the color. The book will
never be complete.
I enter the colosseum, for
digging up the voices―
buried in the throats.
The daffodils wait in
backyard for the ceremony.
Light has come in the eyes.
Satish Verma, 20 november 2019
Uninviting Destiny
I would not understand
your fabric, when you come
wearing only smile.
The politics of life was beyond
my poetry. I only have the words
as my wealth. No other assets.
I wanted more space
between the black holes. My earth
needs a rebirth. I am very lonely.
Poison poems. You always
sparred with a family of weighting
heights, which could not touch the sky.
A series of serial killers,
were ready to begin the assault
on the tossing daffodils, deaf, dumb and blind.
Satish Verma, 21 november 2019
Balancing Act
Collecting the dirt,
a speechless drama unfolds.
Now you can hear the―
wails of buried amnesia.
You can touch now the footsteps
where the activist fell.
The gift of bleeds coming
from the saddened past;
the space was expanding―
to accommodate missed abortions.
My limbs giveaway gathering,
the blackberries of moon.
Satish Verma, 6 december 2019
Voiceless Assaults
You are waiting
amid fears. The fretting
does not end.
At where,
the road ends? To find a blue star
where do we go?
The house was
sleeping in fog. Inside the
dome, hooves, quiver.
I have to become
mute. Time was black,
my song blue.
A pure crime.
The vultures come in
cloaks to take away the lamb.
Satish Verma, 7 december 2019
Of Land And Ills
The dancing paper,
humilates the pen.
A stunning defeat for morality.
In splendid withdrawl,
the eyelids bear the violence
of soil.
A broken pride
will get back at you.
Step aside. Let the soul read the dewdrop.
The moon meets the
earthen lamp, to understand
the hymns of rag-pickers.
The religion drinks
the aroma of holy vice. Was
there any truth of a beast?
Satish Verma, 8 december 2019
Smoke Signals
A severed hand, after
the blast, working on a script
writes about the
musicality of blood.
Blood of moon and trees;
of poems and bees,
contributing to making
of republics of grass.
The roots know the secret
of god and grief of humanity.
The sound ot truth resonates
with the art of dying.
Between the sun-and moon―
under the sky sleeps a
shimmering axe.
Satish Verma, 9 december 2019
I Will Not Be Silent
Overlooks the juvenility.
The shrinking genitals.
It was the militancy.
The freedom, brought
about by the guns.
Now indiscreetly firing at the sky.
This deadpan delivery
of the shut doors. Economy
has failed the toads,
the croaking minions. A raw
poem speaks now
for the unopened coffins.
The run, the run of the
century begins. Some one was
running, non-stop, from
sleep to sleep, away from the sexual
assaults, from rapes, from
man-slaughter.
Satish Verma, 10 december 2019
Eaten By White Ants
Downy mildew,
blinks. The sun
will not come back
to rein in its own might.
The temple gold,
has come for sale―
in bazaar.
On the balcony, stand
bystanders to witness the free fall.
The black door,
plays hide-and-seek
with light.
Green eyes will now
bargain for hips.
Satish Verma, 11 december 2019
Recounting
Uncannily sanguine,
wounded by biting gnats―
you return home.
You would call the
family for a final―
drink and
drown the moon.
You have come very
far from the inviting
shores in deep sea―
to be sucked into the
whirlpool of silence―
to end the sounds.
You will not put the
bread upside down. Who
will provide the priceless again?
A small saga of unheard renegade?
Satish Verma, 12 december 2019
Deterrence
This September. It is
going to be very quiet.
I am trying to caress
the mimosa, which
always said,
touch-me-not.
The spontaneous probe
will start the construct in love
of philosophy to mimic
the animal plus
the femineity.
A clock was moving
without hands. Time was up
but legs were amputated.
How will you walk
towards your truth?
Satish Verma, 13 december 2019
What September
Ceaselessly,
the September moon
was sending poems
in quick succession.
Life had come to a grinding halt.
The walls,
wait to end the race of
stings. The heat was
a dirty yellow.
You will witness the fall of a titan.
The genome of red
wine grape was
similar to a forgotten
verse, after the―
rage of ageing cells of a sage.
Satish Verma, 14 december 2019
Echos In September
Under a sickle moon,
the effect was colossal.
The mute words
were floating like vespae.
There was no―
promised nest of paper.
You cannot land
without ink.
The grey beard starts
weaving a web of
lies. Larvae will―
feed on blessed water.
Very warm, very hollow.
The globe turns. You stand
on the surface,
cannot fathom out the human mind.
Satish Verma, 5 december 2019
Fading Glory
You want to cover your
amnesia. Death
has no other color.
How far you will go
to retrieve
the sensibility?
Time does not sit idly.
Undeniably your foe―
poisoning the well.
Sky was overcast and
sends misty rain.
Have the heart-leaves and moon-seeds.
The history concedes.
Molybdenum was god,
initiating life on earth.
Satish Verma, 4 december 2019
For The Skin And Eyes
Not confessional.
Without reading the body
there was no room.
My fever rises
in limbs.
Giving me a double vision.
This was not my age.
Out of place, I
call for limestone.
The sea and
moon will make a castle
on the waves.
Whom do you call
careless? I was writing
the verse on blood paper.
Satish Verma, 23 november 2019
The Spillover
Not a dog day―
after snapping. In
fatigues, you get a parole
to start sowing sunflowers.
A butterfly skips,
the roundabout and lands
on your lips―
after spending entire
life from flower-to-flower
from bush-to-bush.
I was a witness to history
in making. There was
no togetherness. Will you
believe that?
I am a flame now. All
night I will burn,
to read the explosions―
reaching the bottom of fear.
Satish Verma, 24 november 2019
Uncementing
Gold fringed, the hood
strikes. You are bound
to throne.
It was unnatural to
demolish the ancient shrine.
God will not show his face.
And what about the dew
collecting on grass leaves,
when you were crying?
The kids won't cry now.
The hunger has put
them to sleep.
It was the dead end
now. You are melting in
great walls.
Satish Verma, 25 november 2019
Fading Faces
Widening the scope
you want to remain
at center stage.
Thinking starts, battling
the ghosts. Doubt remains alive.
A broken beer bottle, at your throat.
You suffer the fall
of humankind.
The acid burns. You wire the
clouds. Tears will not flow.
This is not the end.
Turn the page. Why you
need the signs?
Those pale, staring eyes, unclosed.
Not sufficient?
Can you read the red line?
Was it not an oblique cut,
where the sand was lifted?
Satish Verma, 26 november 2019
Retrievability
Shredding begins.
One by one all the leaves fall, like disrobing.
The words hang around, the naked soul.
You have to catch
the essence.
Deep in the sea―
lies the earth like pain. It
rises― when you prod―
to recover the intensity.
The center and tangent,
both, cry.
Perception comes, when
you break the ―
giant silence, searching for a poem.
Satish Verma, 27 november 2019
A Bold Step
Yes it would remain
incomplete, my story―
my poem.
The henna speaks today
against unadulterated lies,
against the rage of
losing path.
No more the wrens
will sing, till the clouds don't send
apologia for not
sending the rains―
of blueberries. If I
were you I will turn the
bees into butterflies.
Satish Verma, 28 november 2019
Once On Earth Day
Returning to the ragpicker
like a lone fly
of love triangle, said― were you
writing a letter to confess your love?
Like a glue sniffer, I
am stuck with you.
O brown earth, raw
wounds heal …
When I sing a blade
of grass, when I sit
under moon, holding your
hills for comfort.
My head nestling on
your heaving breast, while
I sleep without―
a dream.
It was devastating to eat
you. Your cauldron, bubbling.
Someone wants to pay
back your sun, your moon.
Satish Verma, 29 november 2019
A Nonarrival
Munitions in place
you were ready
to strike.
What you wanted to
find out, I had
found in my poems.
It was the dark night―
that becomes ink.
I am writing in black letters.
What was the
obsessive cult of
fingertips, holding the pen?
Sometimes you look
at you, when
you were not you.
Satish Verma, 30 november 2019
World Moves On
The ethical dilemma,
and chaste abscenity,
were the game changers.
Vowel syncope was making it easier.
Let the most vulnerable
lie still. A pseudowar of words
is going to start.
A blast of vocabulary,
some smothering of smells,
will make the jaws, drop soundlessly.
And many would not
breath easily. It was catastrophe.
The language convulses.
In jungle of gatherings
there was no pond.
I was still searching, the inflection.
The creative touch.
Satish Verma, 1 december 2019
No Carnage
A house without doors
I was living
in fog.
The infamous review
will tell about the
fallen words from the roof.
There was no history,
no culture of
cannibalism.
I only exhaled
the grief of centuries
shielding the ankle's pain.
There had been no
perfect picture of the
dancing god in nude.
A blue face swims.
I draw the map of the smell
of cinders.
Satish Verma, 15 december 2019
Quick Snatches
Lesser evil of a god
will preside over
the verdict. There was
a sexual assault
in the temple.
*
If you have an eye, you
will you find a
naked king,
riding on a
golden horse.
*
Friends. It is time,
that will give
you a slip.
Beware of the
dark sentry.
Satish Verma, 8 september 2019
Influenced By Lingua Franca
Be precise, I would say.
The definition was changing― of the sand,
in our eyes.
Who was going to judge the
translation of sex? There was no man, no woman
in terms of misery.
The nights were deluged.
Days dry. My grains refuse to grow under―
the timeless sun.
The mother tongue is
laced with fluid endurance. I stand in
a storm, breathless.
The absent death
mocks at the living dead. How many times
you will go to the river?
Satish Verma, 21 september 2019
On The Death Of A Friend
Unsung:
how it was, you died
wearing your shoes? The
jesamins will meet you―
in the backyard.
The stains are unwashable;
like pomegranates bursting
open on my chest. The
screams still run after me.
How do I get you midway―
in anonymity. I never wanted
you to go, my make-believer.
It was not homozygosity.
Your face swims like
a dragonfly on the interface
of tears. There was no re-entry
in the frame of life.
Satish Verma, 22 september 2019
By Any Reckoning
A young grasshopper lands
on the paper, I was writing upon,
making a chirping sound―
and starts reading the poem.
It was an exceptional treat
for the eyes. Shutting the storm
window, I will watch the rain―
pounding on the frame,
to recall the visitor―
which was behaving like a
celtic Druid, in meditation, to see
the future of mankind.
Not sure, the bent legs, will
ever lift the body and
propel it to move.
The mayhem was thin, but I
declared― the poetry
was not for insects.
Satish Verma, 23 september 2019
Beyond The Stars
Coming from the dark―
to deceptive bloodletting.
The light was my father.
That eternal moment
of pine cone―
to become the third eye.
The ancient memory
becomes vandalized. I
still treat it with respect.
The unclaimed truth was
yours. I wanted to retrieve
the spoken word.
Incongruously brazen
was your thrust, exhorting
me to drown.
Latest comments:
18 may 2024
kb
jakoś kojarzy mi się z "siostrami wielkiej
18 may 2024
no chyba że pomieszkuje
18 may 2024
zdaje się że nikt tu już nie mieszka
18 may 2024
bardzo
18 may 2024
orzeźwieni... prawie jak otrzeźwieni... i to
16 may 2024
violetta
Może w lipcu będę miała takie wakacje:)
16 may 2024
jeśli tylko
słońce w płynie..
15 may 2024
Weronika
Za jeszcze jeden rejs!
14 may 2024
Mam takie oko :)
14 may 2024
Jaga
Zwierzęta upodobniły się do koloru otoczenia
14 may 2024
To naturalny suchy i pustynny klimat. I tam są
14 may 2024
Klimat taki, że nie był i raczej nie będzie,
19 may 2024
Satish Verma
18 may 2024
Satish Verma
17 may 2024
Satish Verma
16 may 2024
Satish Verma
15 may 2024
Jaga
15 may 2024
Satish Verma
14 may 2024
Satish Verma
13 may 2024
Satish Verma
11 may 2024
Satish Verma
10 may 2024
Jaga