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Satish Verma, 30 january 2020
With No Apology
On the mount
a broad-leaved tree was preparing
for self destruction.
It was too cold
under the sun.
A small Christmas tree
with its needle leaves
waits for the snow,
to draw a self-potrait
in bitter winter.
Snow fall makes it
gold, when rain comes
and my hand knives the moon.
Satish Verma, 27 january 2020
Émigré
It was not mental,
when you said, ―
in solstice, the body
and the physics of ashes become
one, the duality is lost
and indentation removed.
This fall it was a freak
weather. The tangerines are
covered with accusing ice. The
insomnia has set in the trees.
No body was sleeping
in gray.
Do not forget the prayer.
Retroactivily you can be pardoned.
Satish Verma, 20 february 2020
Show Me Your Jewel Box
Not reaching somewhere,
I was not today,
what I was.
You seek a hand
for a handshake, and I watch
the dirt gathering
on the nails.
Sky does not give you
an award.The soot
collects on the windows.
The blue skulls dance
to defy the earth.No forehead
was formed.How would you
read the destiny?
I swear, I did not fathered
the deity in a-
monotheist gathering.
A black hijab covers
the moon.
Satish Verma, 27 june 2012
UNMADE FUTURE
A golden cave was afraid
Of a blue thrust.
Hands were not able to console
the mirror.
Let us step back for a
last laugh. You were talking
to yourself when the canary was
set free from the house arrest.
Ah, the paradise, after all, was
a myth. You had to beg for a violin
for democracy and stoop to pick
up a horsehair bow for playing the anthem.
You had cut your fingers in a fake war
with the moon.It was a miracle
knocking out the stars. A self-made
wound will never need the sutures.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 25 november 2015
Ending Of Time?
The identity moves ahead
of the shadow of truth
I search for the absolute
in vain. Can I remove the emptiness
and talk to myself?
The core feeling is same.
We flow in our own separateness.
I want to outlive my brethren
and eat my death alone.
Mindful I watch the kernel,
swaying tree is silent
I am here due to a fault in the genes.
Grief is not my skull house.
Each night I sleep with dry lips
dreaming a lake.
My pillow floats like a chopped moon.
Silence of anonymity
in the heart of a storm.
It is a curious apparition.
The vibrations of distant whispers
fill up the lungs,
ripping apart the veins.
My inside blood utters
a shrill sob.Where to go?
We cannot return back. Ending of time?
Satish Verma, 17 december 2015
Full Stop
I allowed you to tread on me unflinchingly.
My mind on pause,
ungrieved you turn back the clock.
Enough to stun the century,
I take cognisance of divine’s club foot.
I did not believe in self-pity
but I was racing against time
to avoid a jealous path running with me.
Yet I was sleeping on bushes of estranged thorns
without locking my golden age.
Tulips are no more my favourites.
You have to dig deep to plant the bulbs
and wait. When death opens the door for me,
I wanted to be free from any commitment
and ready to walk in, like a foot soldier.
This cosmos is mine, body is for you.
It no more obeys my command.
No more commas are needed,
a final full stop will do.
I am returning back to my home.
Satish Verma, 6 november 2015
Passage To Unknown
At cultural opening of thin
layers of faith & consciousness,
a new breed of angels was
romping on our souls.
I suffered again for tiny spaces
between the thoughts.
Death cannot be intrusive.
It waits at the door of light.
The show will start when truth dies.
I go again for the reality of anticlimax,
the anxiety of endless flights into fantasies,
the hallucinations of falling trees.
Give me some space to pedal
the silken smoke of dark truths.
There was fire in my heart
and eternal burning
of a lake. I cared for tears,
the eerie memories.
The age-old pain of seeking
the liberation from twisted symbols,
simple measures of
finding a passage to unknown.
Satish Verma, 8 october 2015
Aparthied
Offspring were preoccupied in their spiral career,
you feel sorry. You don’t get the sleep,
core-feelings flee from
the windows of an ailing house.
A cloud softens again in the eyes.
Wronged truth has created
an aparthied in ranks of candles.
Inner pain gropes towards
the spot between eyes.
You survive by the
whispers of absolute bliss.
Looking becomes a sequential text.
The self divides the darkness into hot flames.
Outpouring the anguish, the frailities.
At dawn the blackness
of dripping night fades.
The earth wins the moral nothingness,
beyond the regrets of inspired sermons.
The psyche is rooted
deep in the mud, topless
dust spreading the
message of preferred truce.
Satish Verma, 13 october 2015
Comparision
Alone with an untouched,
untainted voice in me
I blunder into a rarefied
mist of thoughts,
listening, holding my breath.
A pause amidst thunders of vocabulary.
Gratefully the end comes
liberating the sap from earth.
Intense pain isolates you
from the drama of life.
Maimed by three dimensional
negativity you walk straight
inhaling the scent of death row.
The tapestry of pain outlines the path.
Your shoulders are broad with pride.
Nostalgia of a blooming tree.
Grateful to summer
gives you the aloneness.
Like stars we are sailing
in our separateness.
The perfumed gathering tenders no apology.
I always detested the comparison of heights.
Satish Verma, 15 december 2015
Living Legend
The flame will not die.
I pursue the path of smoke
the virtue of suffering
gives the pure light.
The book knows my inside truth
and tells no one. I weep for the swallows,
I could not feed.
I lay one white
stone for each death.
You will scatter my ashes,
in the abandoned land
where silence walks
and words lie like microcosm
of contemporary hunger.
Life was a cupful of tears.
The voices always spilled challenging
the fidelity of flowing water.
The living legend turns in grave,
I pray for peace
I promised myself to stand erect
when the quake comes.
I will save the flora
and the grass of dying earth.
I ask for one more life
to clear the debt & bleach my guilt.
Satish Verma, 25 june 2015
Second-Hand Event
Movement spurts the truth-
an endless journey.
The constant search for beliefs creates confusion.
Craving and wanting
generates more conflicts.
The meaningless life drifts.
Can you go beyond your dreams,
beyond your yearnings?
I wanted to disagree with death
the ultimate truth.
Life had many connotations,
there was no deliverance from reflections.
No freedom from trepidation
ego was the last refuge.
The ending of self
did’t take you to liberation.
Urremitting flow of time
awakens your soul.
Stillness of thoughts opens
the muted doors of meditation.
It suddenly transports you to the otherness.
You are not your name.
The indulgence to self
becomes a second-hand event.
Satish Verma, 26 april 2016
Valley Of Tears
Beyond the gaze there is a time zone
of rumored agitation
when you cannot sleep.
You open your eyes quietly to complain.
The caretaker has prepared the shroud.
Smoke is rising on the hills.
No body walks with you,
it is a lone journey, where
centuries throw the dust on your hallowed gifts.
The pyramid of signs, symbols, signatures,
disappear in penultimate flare.
Time to leave the waiting room.
The resurrection will take place now;
of fear; of despair; of foot steps in dark.
I will hear them, holding my breath.
Landscape will change into valley of tears.
Satish Verma, 16 december 2015
Faithless Autumn
Bleak landscape
transcends its shoulders,
writhes in pain.
I praise the light for green haloes
and tall figures, which cast
long shadows on parched lips,
my world. The hot sand fills the eyes.
A palpalable seizure shakes the horizon.
I drift like a dry leaf
on the winds of time
the perplexities of sand dunes
and dancing smoke.
What I was striving for all life?
A metaphorical silence
spends the energy of unspoken waking.
The rich decadence of things unhappned.
The occult rules the flesh
and the music of life dies.
The names start trading the tree,
full of flowers, inarticulately
to faithless autumn.
The twigs long for mother shape
the icons will swallow
the melting grief in vain.
Satish Verma, 5 july 2012
RESPONSE
The myopic tongues
of tall trees, going downhill
to find the roots of four-letter words of dead,
unspoken, but sung in dark.
They had come out of the skin.
River was flowing on emotional track,
with heavy eyelids. Father said,he would never die.
Your unborn children were tasting
the salt of the road still untaken. The pain
in the neck was grizzlier,
when the sun was retreating in virgin hole.
Moreover, the wrinkles will tell the tale
of truant hands who would not
play with the silken adolescence
of a delirious moon.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 17 february 2013
RETOLD JOURNEY
Insane
I turn around
an amputee
to live, for not living
fighting the inner war
speared,
lacerated,
like neanderthal in cave
my weapon
the serrated moon
cried in fluted dark
a glimpse of bare bones
the ash of a bleeding dawn
my shuttered courage
in urn
there was only one evening
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 12 december 2012
*DEPRESSION
There was thunder in the hut
teeth clattered under the ground.
Handcuffed you walk in inequality
to qualify for hanging till dead.
I may not tell myself
what was happening to me.
Moving in opposite direction
the bird was able to catch the smell.
My stance was always making a stroke
in the canvas of a tormentor
abbreviated in a muscular arm
starting violences of sleep.
Corralled in doorframes, keeping
the lights off, this was the nemesis
for asking for the change. Haungered, the
human being, absorbed by the
absence of chains which were not
coming in sight.
*On the fate of Kanu Sanyal, founder of naxalite movement, who hanged himself to death on 23th March 2010.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 13 december 2012
WORDLESS SILENCE
Yes, your name was sliced off
from the impasse. I will stand with you
to track the continental drift. How little
I knew about you and the prosthetic words.
Again and again I return to ruins, and
the dust and crumbling absence. Eyes
will speak for the wordless silence now.
Who will tell the truth for the murdered
thought? The cognitive silence? You don’t
want to see the light. The soul sits outside
the body. Pollution hits the mind. The words
eat the emptiness of facts and lies. A vertical
descent of speech.I should not have
listened to cries.
A memory moves in zigzag manner, accepts
the odyssey of man’s failing gods.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 14 april 2012
Cocktail
Beings of erotica were
at the gates of heaven.
Shell-shocked, the city was becoming political
but people were absconding.
It was global warming
for obscenity. The remoteness
was collapsing and moons
had come in my arms.
Smoking the serrated leaves
and glandular hairs, hurling
yourself on the pathway to estasy
to forgive and to forget.
The blue mercury was
ascending. Anti-depressants were
not working. You don’t own the
phrases. Words were becoming surrogate
for thoughts. We embrace the fall.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 7 march 2012
Ungoing
Incredible moon
tips the hallucinating tree.
Lake propels the waves to limbs
and strips to bank.
I wear my lightning
and enter into a process
outside body. The night
betrays and goes back to sun.
There is a frame of truth to be claimed
in a black sac, who slashed
his neck for the deity
of widening freedom.
Turn right, where the trembling
nation stands to pick up the fallen heroes.
I am going to write an epitaph
with my blood on the wind chimes.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 18 december 2012
INTROSPECTION
Living against the food amnesia
gold bricks call for austerity
in passage of the hunger.
Canons hanging in their necks
it was the silence of death.
Whispers were floating in night.
The bodies will free us from
gold cure, tasting the forbidden salt
of stale lead of spices.
We will forget the color of lips
when you cry. Time falls
like a dead sparrow on faithless head.
When you hold a hollyhock
I look at the crescent moon
who was taking a shower after disrobing.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 7 december 2012
MANIA
Keep the paper blank,
do not write anything new.
Words were abducted earlier also
Let the truth speak from the folds
of dying clocks.
Fauns were searching the human
abodes for fake currency of truth. There
was no method in their method. Do you
find a pride in their attacks? A strange
militia had joined hands with sleep mafia.
My soul colours the half-black berries.
The sum will not eat them.
Father was beaten in war of tricks
I still follow the laws of kindness
in filling the extended empty cups.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 30 october 2012
ALONG THE SORROW
Fire in kidneys
was burning the basket.
Privacy of green thumbs
was intimately involved.
Let us share the candle light march
for the blossoms,
who would not stay
for old birds,
Read me again the epitaph
of the martyr, who wanted to remain
unsung, for the sorrow of
the flowing river.
Frenzy of a lone wolf was
inconsolable, when the dam spilled
the dead wood on the empty
bed of roses.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 28 january 2013
IN CHAINS
Listening,
to inner voice,
peeling off the hurts,
hammered memories.
You dropp the answer
and throw back the question.
Something was totally amiss
Absence overtakes the presence.
The shadow was more frightening.
No movement,
A lull before a flash,
then explosion. The limbs will fly.
The ending of thought
or beginning of emptiness?
A green death starts thinking.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 26 january 2013
BLAMELESS?
Rebirth of an anxiety,
of an abstract thought,
takes on the impossible of something
left between false and true.
Out of spite some body was betraying the life.
A bodiless lie becomes an imposter
beats the truth and walks away.
You, dumbfounded, discover a malignancy
in the roots of a crying tree.
The soil bacteria were taking over the grains.
The price of the sick crop, the insects,
the greed of the state, where the normal
man will go. The comets and the crabs
are circling the island. Scratch the prophecy,
and every man was turning against himself.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 20 march 2012
REVOLUTION
Riveted:
the ducks went into a howl.
A shirtless moon was walking
on the lake.
Darts had started moving
towards blue lips.
Gale was not able to speak.
Unthinkable:
sky will explode now, in stars.
Gambling with water, cheating
the fireflies
in dark bush.
Who was illegitimate on
the blanket?
The child was crying for the
lost coin.
King wanted the sun to hide behind the monolith;
his statue was being pulled down.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 4 january 2013
sui generis
Looting after the earthquake:
I have wrecked myself
on my own terms.
Bringing down the edifice
of human cult,
the man has come in the
spin of richtor scale.
Why does a crisis tears up the mask
and animal comes out?
An insect will wait for the hidden
dust to settle till dawn.
Along the rim, a glacier
has collided with an iceburg.
Now eyes do not hold water.
It is raining.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 3 july 2012
CURVATURE
The visible was most
invisible.
Watching the moon
through veil.
A bomb explodes
in your hands.
The poem wavers-
and then falls on dew.
This was not bone-green;
original,
not a fake cloud –
to kiss the feet
of a burning god.
It was natural conjugation
between enemies.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 2 april 2012
Climbing
Before sinking to knees.
I will talk to flowers.
Day of arrival has come.
In death, wisdom of trees
will eject the seeds
of fire on hip-locked roots.
A miracle will raise the bones
from the rage of crowd.
The king has agreed to depart.
Darkness sings in the
valley of sun.
Tongues are free to weave the moon.
Till the words are ready
to walk on street of sorrow
to remove the blood soaked prints.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 4 april 2012
Confrontation
It erupts and then sublimates
in thirst of response
from the faraway wholeness of truth.
Will not be the same
again this life in motion
of reverse malignity.
Lifting the passage from
script to justify the
suicidal chair of kingdom.
Every morning I wake, the
town weeps for the dead,
killed by street.
The grieving mother tolls
the bell, for each fallen horse.
Earth, receive your sons in shame.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 19 february 2013
A HUM
Take me, share me if you can
my heart goes to my sun,
my feet will go to my moon.
O, little home
my dream was bigger than you
in the melody of sorrow.
Will I walk again on the
wrinkled sands? what can you
visualize, which I have never seen?
Praying in the scoop
of fingers I feel, gold nuggets
in the throes of doubts –
neatly dug out from the frozen
past, birds, smelling sex, souls
suspended in air.
Was it beginning of hate,
on the yellow mountains
where I am climbing with wooden legs?
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 3 march 2013
I TRUST
When the hate began
subordinating,
where were you?
O!
My clothes were on fire.
When you climbed the lips,
words were livid on tongue:
beyond the earth and sky,
water and air,
fire!
You stutter?
Speak not truth.
I don’t exist;
my flesh has become food
red meat,
dirty orchid!
I will forget me! !
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 6 march 2013
LIFE’S TOAST
Difficult it becomes, the secret of
the judgement and metamorphosis of
the painted cotton into a stained truth.
To save the present tense. A dangerous
crowd of vowels to express the incomplete
moment of watery teeth,
so hung, while misspeaking painfully
in dyslexic manneo. I would not
understand the hour-glass proxy.
An undersized leash to walk
with a giant: the magnitude of tragedy
overwhelms the path!
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 2 march 2013
A CLEAN MURDER
Standing on a beam,
shrine:
holding a black dawn,
my phoenix roving on dark river.
The bell still clangs;
I hear the footsteps.
A weird thought
spreads out on peripherals,
makes holes,
the undone communiqué
of a war
between knuckles;
the blind eyes
lift the fallen globe
of light.
I move from tree to tree.
Who was left unburned?
The sky was overcast.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 8 march 2013
GEOMETRY
You catch what was convenient
for age of denial. The exit.
Not being for nothing,
a better half of a belief.
Dependence was increasing
on wounds inflicted on others.
I stop at the mid of road
to turn or not to turn.
For the lost parapharases of existence.
The myth of amorality
was getting a new title. I close
a chapter of non-committance,
walk along a wheel chair.
I am not limbs, not topless.
The toes are prodding on a green vein!
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 4 march 2013
LISTENING
They walk in dreams
nightmarishly
spirits of nameless faces
staring without eyes.
The screams:
of a child
on whom you poured boiling water.
The screams:
of a girl made to wear only flesh, because
she ran away with a priest.
The screams:
of a wipped woman
who tasted the laughing moonlight.
Death makes a big hole
in a spooky silence!
Are you listening?
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 12 march 2013
DROUGHT IN RIVERBED
A randon creation
convulsed by grief.
Death of a pendant was not able
to recall the cleavage.
Kosher scream, the grandchildren
will not know the fakes of
reality show,
pure as honey, then the
scratching starts: look the tiger
was sitting on the branch.
Miracles will happen again
when the prince manipulates
the throne.
The dust melts in the local crowd.
Amid droughts there was a rivalary
to pick up the left over grains in field
between urchins and squirrels!
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 17 may 2012
Acrimony
In longest night
of pitch-dark space
you disappear like an arrow.
No star brightens your face.
Rumor was cruising like a bat on streets
to capture the gullible victim
on winter solstice.
The snow was falling like
sorcery.
A little anxiety to taste the
dried out grapes
and listen to the hunger
mouthless.
You draw the lake
on a canvas
and then jump into it
with visible nakedness.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 5 january 2013
BRINGING DOWN
The road breaks here.
Give me something to heal the fractured earth.
Angels are too much for me, the
gash turns inward ripping apart
eternal vigil.
They head into the burning books
and then explode themselves
on wet sands, generating grids, blithely lethal.
Wired blind, the sun weeps.
A green catastrophe tears a huge iceburg.
Post-coitol emptiness. The sweet nothing
stops. He becomes everything, the world
was not. The clouds bleach, moon
strips to bone. The artist goes into
exile to find a fiction.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 8 january 2020
Fractured
Blunt and bold were
the wet spots.
You bleed like me.
The seizure takes hold
of millions thoughts.
My sins are walking with me.
No annihilation of
the flesh. I was meeting
the spirits.
The face becomes pure
gold, when you
start burning the issues.
The years had survived
in slumber.
Death will not come to the hanged man.
Satish Verma, 6 january 2020
Night Spots
Tonight the moon will sit
on the gazobe,
to have a look at the sea, rising.
*
On the night's shade
dewdrops will wait, till
morning glory blooms.
*
It was a long night.
My lamp starts to flicker.
I hurry up to finish my poem.
Satish Verma, 12 january 2021
Losing Oneself
What would you give
when I ask for nothing?
A mysterious lineage
of the soul. It has no sequence,
no flesh, no body.
I was heading towards the edge.
Did you know the perfect
no home? It has no crumbling walls,
no hurting windows. The gray roof of sky?
The earth, the damaging
winds. An hour of awareness
in wait. You start
exploring jinxed mind,
hearing voices, but no words.
Satish Verma, 29 january 2020
Phenomenal Defeat
A wine taster was
ready to begin the birth
of night.
A wrinkle displays
the absurd mediocrity
of the charter.
I will not play
in the hands of unknowable
I have my own map.
I am shedding,
my skin, my color. Only
a truncated god will speak for me.
Satish Verma, 31 january 2020
Song Of Promotion
I am not going to touch
the meaning―
of nativity for unknown
guests.
A cameo appearance of some
god, does not take away the
most recent fears
of death.
The ghosts have their own
defences against scars,
bruises and unstitched
bones.
Give me a piece of unleashed
poem, my odyssey
has begun in
earnest.
Satish Verma, 19 may 2020
Irrelevantly
To drink the sea,
spilled over
from your eyes was not an easy task.
It was getting
dark, outside.
Inside an eternal flame
of separation
was flickering.
About the consent
of owning
privacy of truth,
I withdraw
my comments.
Now no shroud was needed
to cover the naked body.
Satish Verma, 31 august 2020
Compressed Emotions
I had met the flower
after a longtime.
The rose.
And its fragrance
hauls me to childhood
after the big dying.
A tender, scented dream
will touch me,
to become a poet.
Lying on dewed grass
you think, a promiscuous
microbial libido begins.
The explosion will eject
free verses, waiting in silence-
to witness- the April fall.
Satish Verma, 21 may 2020
Will You Admit?
An indecent
exposure. It was not
a game, to kill
a panther, moving
around in search
of prey.
And the basic instinct.
The fundamental trait defict
was between hunger
and ecstasy, between beast
and man.
You will chase a
butterfly, not for pleasure
but to become
an animal.
This was the observer,
and that was observed.
Satish Verma, 19 february 2020
Watching The Lethality
I
The blend of gene and name.
How you carry the
legacy?
II
We are losing the war.
You are winning
the birds.
III
The sparrows have left
the nest of man,
in search of moving homes.
IV
How do you spell the ruins?
I have never seen
a perfect shape.
V
Chicken-livered.
Why did you try to
confront the wall?
Satish Verma, 28 march 2013
I CANNOT WEEP
Those vicious strikes.
Beaten by sticks,
a panther dies on moon
in midstop.
Standing on a bomb
digging a tunnel
you pay obeisance to
the god of war.
This sweet revenge
for your forefathers?
Who could not walk straight
in the bastard crowd.
Spilling the sperms
O pimp of faith,
why are you selling
your poverty?
The heap of limbs
on the breast of a mother.
A hand of a child was cut
in every womb.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 29 march 2013
WHO WAS FAITHFUL?
That yellow moon haunts me again
and overleaps my sleep.
I do not dare to walk in the graves
of your eyes. The palace
has broken.
Mere suffering was not sufficient.
You have to wince with pain
for a crucified secret,
dying for a graced truth.
Snatch me a tear from
the blind eyes.My precious rags
will make a sacred thread to wrap
you on your arm.
The bruised innocence does not matter
now.You walk like a prince in every dark
page of history. Light follows the
sounds of body.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 13 may 2013
ONE SILVER BOWL
Will you save me
when I take the call of the lake?
The swishing depth was inviting me
for a plunge in the purple pool.
How deep was the pain of a mountain?
The domain was again ailing
with subtle rumors of
a massive landslide.
An escaped love of a thorn
was splittimg open the embrace
of me and my mask. Totally denuded,
a face was dusting off all the self-made
marks of inflictions.
Will you walk with me now
up to the stormy night, where I have
a house of candles keeping a vigil
for a coffin of unflowered seeds?
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 1 june 2013
FALLING BRICKS
From the blank book can I
lift some questions for the lofty hopes
when I lost myself near the home?
The fear was darting inside the white sores.
Keys were lost for the answers
and truth fell castrated.
The magic was fading from the cusps
of designs, unconceived thoughts were
seeking proportionate punishments.
Congeniality drifted from the
architect of hominid species. A nameless
storm plays havoc. Humble peaks bow
before the unmeasured meteors. You
can shut the orphanage now; no
bombs are bound for the wet crypts.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 9 december 2016
Somalia Calling
I met a talking moon
on the road of death.
What easily comes, goes easily with winds.
I was counting the ribs of
my dying child. He went into the
woods to fight the unknown wars
of hunger.
Bunker: it went into flames
sailing into brilliance of space.
I am going to inherit the black grains
of molten day. How I will confront
the night tainted with bonfires
of sunken eyes?
God particles in tiny fists spreading
the spun cotton, intitating a
revolution of thoughts. A bumpy
argument. The icon denies the guilt
of mass killing. I want
to remain unsung.
Satish Verma, 14 november 2016
Blind Alleys
A nascent cry
demands the signature
of space.
I will start the self destruction-
clawing back
on the land of
betrayals.
The rule of sky was at stake.
Trees were burning
and the birds
want to grasp
the stark reality of notional violence.
In dark hour
I know not words
to lift the eyelids
the cloud, the flowers, the blood!
Satish Verma, 12 may 2022
Weird Dreams
Will ask hibiscus―
in twilight, to let moth
live its one night.
*
The bougainvillea
leaves, falling one by one,
always frighten you.
*
Bends like a bow,
the sickle moon, to pick up
its child in water.
Satish Verma, 21 february 2015
KLEPTOMANIAC
This kitsch
makes you hollow,
kleptomaniac.
You become blind in green
ready to make a dumb leap
from tall cliff.
Contempt for climactic throats.
The man walks on water
to meet death in icebox.
Pink torch like royal command signals,
black white moon enters a sober cloud
beyond the vibrations.
Now was the chance to kill
the light, fixing the graves.
One day the laughter was alive.
Satish Verma, 17 february 2018
A Pilgrim’s Woe
Strange. You want to protect
the house after the attack.
Debunking the grammar. Take
a look at the cavernous eyes.
Do you find any rains?
Refresh drops. You will
need them, once a while.
The life. Hides many grudges.
It was scorching. A country
of cantos in politics. The-
language keeps on changing.
What was next, nobody knows.
The trees were there, the birds
there, but there were no leaves.
Satish Verma, 27 september 2017
The Final Call
Answers remain elusive.
Stains were on shirt:
You went on wiping-
away the mirror.
Incarcerated,
biologically, he wanted
to get it changed.
The pecking order.
You were trying to
move away,
from yourself. Death
was the missing link.
Was it indecent
to start the self-inventory?
You start dancing
on the inaudible music.
Satish Verma, 5 december 2017
Looming Large
The art of losing the
core-hurts, standing in deepest
mood.
You want to see, what your
prefrontal cortex thinks.
The suffering: the debris
fall on the eyes.
Vast Greenland melts.
The terror strikes. You
inherit the barren land.
I start talking with the
spirits. In the shoe box, lies the
past. The water was rising
in eyes. The scent of moon
sometimes misses the earth.
The butterflies, sometimes
come, declare the deadline
for garden prayers.
Satish Verma, 28 february 2018
Not Quite A Prayer
You had placed floating
garden on the crest
of five-headed white cobra.
The hooded death,
strikes; when you were
tending to bonsai.
Over to moon,
you send the message. But
The book was incomplete.
On the way to
tiny thoughts, an odyssean
task to put the right words.
I will go and
stand on the edge, to
watch the glorious senset.
Satish Verma, 13 february 2018
A Sneak Preview
Hold your saliva.
The kissing syndrome,
is on prowl.
A threat looms large;
over the face on the face
of most beautiful eyes.
Are you fascinated by the-
picture of shedding the skin?
The reptile was most venomsus.
Strikes, when you are
sleeping. Floats into your house
when it is dark.
A remake of the horror
of holocaust? Will it
affect your lips?
Satish Verma, 4 february 2018
Logistics
Midnight encounter.
In moon, on sand.
Why you were igniting a sheltered home
of wounded pride?
The blood spills
over the sea, in boat.
You were unrelenting, against traction
violence of unhappenings.
The blackness blooms.
A man will cross midstream,
writing on water the name of a lamb
who refuses to surrender.
I sit between the
kisses of dragonflies.
An empty paper nest waits for the wandering
wasps to come back with stings.
Satish Verma, 4 april 2018
Uprooting
The intrigues, the twists
unravel the woven threads
of the mystery. Traumatized
and dazed, I play─
dice with the unknown to
find out the truth.
Confronting the purpose
of existence,
you come out of the flesh
after flogging─
and start dancing
with bones.
Extremely poor,
you play the hand
and fail.
Elsewhere someone
climbs on the pole
and sets the house on fire.
Satish Verma, 25 november 2018
Streaking Alone
Like sly coyotes
you move around
the fireballs. You switch off
the earthly lights. They are
now oranges. Presently
a broker will sell the wounds
of the moon.
Why did you feel sad of something
which was unsaid? A thousand
and one words will speak
when the poem would be brought
dead. You are not here
not in the nakedness of lies, when
something glitters which was not yellow.
The twilight now settles
in your eyes. Moon refuses to
plunge into darkness.
Satish Verma, 20 july 2019
Cracked Open
Living my own way
like flint,
you will not read
my cosmology.
We two, keep quiet in―
the same book― I
want to read some
hidden message from you.
A day slips into night.
What a consumption of will.
The train stops at the terminus―
without a traveler.
Stepping out, from the
grave of body― you will throw
a reflection, of the nerves,
in a wreath.
Satish Verma, 3 august 2019
Holed Up
You are becoming a
frozen leak, the violet
end.
Ultra was not going beyond
the zero. Here the―
journey ends.
Dispersion of light was
increasing, the surface tension
between me and religion.
Again you are deflecting,
taking an oblique route
to find the truth.
Who was the father
of an unborn lie?
I was not expanding any more.
Satish Verma, 4 august 2019
Speaking Stones
When there was a cloudburst―
it was time― I thought
for the soul search.
Again I turn back to―
our complexity, in religion,
caste and lineage.
The prairie was giving―
way, for a volcano to erupt.
Can there be a drive from the back seat?
A prisoner of one's own
follies, you would wait till―
the sky comes down and liberates you.
The illegitimacy bursts
open, when you claim that
no child was left behind.
Satish Verma, 5 august 2019
It Was Distressing
The red dot was sinking
to smear the lake. It was
in soft focus, the waning light.
You want to bury
the attachment, on the bank.
Let the waves wash away―
the footprints. The
clan was in great distress.
On ventilator, the icon was not dying.
Innocence goes on the block
I will not get a fair deal
from the silence of the stone.
The disk tumbles
into obscurity. Who will
bring peace to the withering art?
Satish Verma, 6 august 2019
About Unhappenings
Taking refuge behind the
solemn words, you speak loudly.
It rattles you, when you―
hear, it was the world's end.
I have not yet spoken to you
about the happenings, which never happened.
You want to slingshot the
malignancy without your remedy.
Illegible was the writing
on the parchment. I must dig up the ruins.
Matter of instinct, when you start
washing your hands and spitting unendingly.
Satish Verma, 7 august 2019
It Was Not Vicious
Digging deep into
the body of moment, you have
to find out the roots/of dopamine―
blend of dopa and amine,
circulating the gossip. It was
a prelude before a personal take―
into the consciousness of guilt.
Do you need to bring in
the demigods and tree nymphs―
for fertility? The arboreal pain
sends the apology of the shade.
There was no need of any limbs to
walk. Standing on the brink,
you can reclaim the pyramids.
The precocity of non-existence
appears, when you start confronting
the blue lake of tiny eyes.
Satish Verma, 8 august 2019
Vendetta
Brown eyes:
little things―
I ask from you.
This is the holy land,
you can walk, without
offering anything.
I will not surrender
an alter ego
for a price.
The walls scoop
the shadows
for future skin.
A small pilgrimage
for the
dying god.
It hurts when
my lips will not touch
the flame.
Satish Verma, 9 august 2019
Blood Stained
For a long time
I will look at you
to find my image.
In the grainy morn―
the frivolity,
dithers.
Thrown from the roof
a cluster of flowers
for vanity.
Satish Verma, 10 august 2019
Matter Of Fate
While ascending throne,
you cover up your tracks―
by putting up the somber demeanor.
I don't find myself happy.
No stings visible. The world
is savagely beautiful, always
indulging in finding a goat.
Can you see through a person?
Wooden legs cannot take you very―
far. What you need was your intent,
to scramble and make a kill
of a subtone.
The crowd goes in a tizzy.
Tortoise in a bag, was moving
faster than the man.
Satish Verma, 2 august 2019
Times Are Changing
Addictive in shambles, that was
cognitive decline―
amidst wars of life,
with a right to death.
The gold dust falls
from the dead, colliding stars,
after the violence of giants.
You may not need stem cell transplant now.
Like a gamma ray burst― of
cataclysmic events― to start
the creation of verse. Were you
ready to hear the inner voice?
The urge to go up, was very strong
without grit. My burden will
increase if you are―
reluctant to propel yourself.
Satish Verma, 1 august 2019
Till The Ceremony
I accept, my defeat―
in the hands of Ariel.
You start hiding from your
own chrysanthemums.
Trying to merge the agony
with the diminutive flight.
The tale of a big fall from
the height of assimilation―
I will go all the way to
challenge the unknown fear.
The passage was full of
bumps, slowing the pace of kisses.
Satish Verma, 31 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, 21 july 2019
An Awakening
Profiling the flaws
after the ignition, starts
the outrage.
A stoic will assume a
secret. The mute testimony
against my naked walls.
Your gifts are lying unseen,
unused. I have gone, O tormentor―
beyond your reach.
When you would try
to annihilate the vision, I will
check the bleed of eyes.
If the bell rings;
somebody will arrange the table
for anaesthesia.
Satish Verma, 22 july 2019
The Rarest Thing
The night watchman
has become an etcher.
The stoning of the shirt
must stop. These moments were the
real sinners/beating the moon.
A simple story becomes an epic.
The belly buttons start
stammering. Meaning did not take a bath.
Canaries have gone on a strike.
They will not sing on the edge of night.
An oil painting walks out of the canvas―
to become a parable.
The creator of this art
was done.
Satish Verma, 23 july 2019
The Daphnia
The truth of my blood
at the mensal
without prayer and anguish.
Will you be able to
heal the rift between color
and smell?
The other face―
offering the tears in
cupped palm.
The slant eyes will
never know, the end of―
the day under the shadows.
The endemic fugue―
tilts the balance of angels.
The bay tree sends the condolence.
Satish Verma, 24 july 2019
What Hospice
Becoming unsteady
at points of darkness.
Tinged with blue
I am ready for the unspoken departure.
How to reach out―
for a situation, which was not?
You sleep on the floor
to hear the earth’s agony.
A helix― surrounds the
imperfect creation of unsavory thoughts.
Abusive was the creator,
The evil had a beauty in destruction.
Satish Verma, 25 july 2019
Self-Effacement
Gender―
was becoming unborn, ―
untaught. Very fluid state.
You could transgress the boundaries
like the sea spreading over,
on your land.
My ankles giveaway. I cannot―
walk incognito. Moon will
not open the door. Nightshade welcomes
with open arms. A climber
with purple flower holds my hand.
I may stumble. Almost done―
disconnecting with present―
and past.
This is the sun. This is the
sky. Circumcising becomes an
escape, to cut off the bondage with yourself.
Satish Verma, 26 july 2019
The Prairie Wool
The trapped body
will not listen to baby fugue.
The perception will find―
the writing on the flute.
For Neptune, the liquid
carries your voice.
The fugacity will find
the tongue of eternity.
The sea has divided
the land. Water sends the wreaths.
The future will keep an eye
on the scavenger, time.
There were signs. It was going
to become a predator.
Satish Verma, 27 july 2019
Violence In A Cup
The winged sex of the
module/wants to stay naked.
Everything backs it up
to become a suicide bomber
on the beach.
A cactus will not bloom tonight.
A shirt was loaned to the
tortured torso without head and limbs.
She was possessed by a
black spirit of a squirrel,
which was killed by a hatchet.
Bit by bit a moth was eaten alive
by the ants. Only the dry wings
were clapping.
Satish Verma, 28 july 2019
Confronting The Unknown
I walk for a short while―
talking with the moon and
thinking about the zero―
and spirit and water― standing
my ground, I ask the earth―
tell me, whose fear was greater than mine.
If god was blind, then why
so many planets and moons? Is that true
that between good and bad lives a shaman?
There was something
behind the walls. A lot of noises coming―
out, as if nobody was perfect.
The realization itself was hurting.
The day I started sweating,
reaching the icy peaks of understanding.
Satish Verma, 29 july 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, 11 august 2019
Frost Was Setting In
No moon tonight
I had to find―
my path along the hedges
by fireflies.
The river was in haze,
not wearing any scent.
Some invisible hands were
rowing a boat in midstream.
At this time a god jumps―
in, to sort out the memory of dark nights.
Not dementia. But I will
try to remember your face in moonlight.
Once I had lost my way
to your home. Now my
home has lost me for ever.
Satish Verma, 12 august 2019
Sheer Expanse Of Tragedy
Staring into nothingness―
the body clicks.
Smells the pungent fumes and/
cedes the suspension of tears.
Quenchless, you drink
the white phosphorus, glowing
in dark, of
stark reality.
The barrenness will put
up a Harappan seal,
to come back.
The stomata bleed.
The blue salt was naïve.
Will not leave the ocean.
You cannot swim,
you cannot drown.
Satish Verma, 26 august 2019
Predictions
The hunger was scouring
each house― in utopia―
daring you to open the door.
Weavers were ready for―
the moment― of encounter―
to spin the corona.
As if an asteroid was heading
towards the silent ariel,
to destroy its integrity.
Beyond good and bad, there
was an effigy of a designer―
in dancing mode.
It was a jinx in your
speed. You would not climb on a
walk without a rope.
Satish Verma, 27 august 2019
Before The Sunset
I am trying to do my bit,
nonpareil. A soundproof doer,
erasing the palm from the painting―
drinking the nitrogen from the air
starving myself.
Cannot bequeath my eyes,
my thumb vision. You were always
asking about my sadness, emptiness.
I will not tell about
the acid times.
That killing instinct was not
there. I will give you the
unborn poems, that would not wear
the death mask, my unspoken
thoughts, peeling after the darkness and
I will let you go to find your path.
Satish Verma, 28 august 2019
The Atrocities
Friends and foes
would have a scuffle
about, who was going to pluck the lymphoma.
A rainbow deflects,
from your eyes, making
me grasp for the breath.
Seeks apology, while
talking to trees, on boil
was the language, under the poverty line.
It does not make any sense.
The rain catcher was on trail
of a fugitive.
The sun. Always hiding
behind the veils of massacre.
I am not going to face the moon.
Satish Verma, 29 august 2019
Interlacing To Catch A Theme
With the tip in the center,
this is the circle of an iron will
undoing the circination.
You are moving in a straight line
now. The knots in the chest
will take you to surrogacy.
The needle's eye was watching
you― gauging your grit.
Can you take a prick?
Without blood? From an
urn you lift a red string to tie
on the hands of unborn thought.
You miss a line, a word
an image. Still it happens deep
inside. An angst constricts you in
pythonic grip. A poem becomes you.
Satish Verma, 30 august 2019
One Turmoil Deep Inside
Resisting your wisdom
I want to remain, thoughtless.
Not bargaining, I come in the crowd,
to negotiate a stunt.
The awakening,
the trepidation. I pay honour
to the great stress angler―
my poverty of cruel jokes.
Like a fox to reignite―
the identity. I will move away
from the body of blood soaked denials
standing alone, against the genocide.
Was still hungry, eating
your violet-red― plums. Not was whole,
the controversy. Somewhere a
forensic evidence will say, mask was not real.
Satish Verma, 1 september 2019
Modesty
In fever, I will
always see butterflies
landing on your nose.
White, yellow, black.
They come and go and I am
sitting under a cherry blossom tree.
Stroking you, cajoling you
to drop the wings.
In grass the sun waits
in a dew drop.
The moon was not a poor thing.
Will come in white robes
to preach.
Satish Verma, 2 september 2019
Shadow Boxing
Find an auspice today.
The moon was coming back
after an abdication.
Lurching on cobblestoned stretch
of blue-black clouds; paring
the tall conical trees of
royal pines.
Heaped with roses, a man
with no-war slogan, lies
in the open earth.
You will not perceive―
any smell of smouldering pen and knives.
The body turns without
a comma.
Satish Verma, 3 september 2019
Sound Bites
The plaques were being
attached to the wall. You would not be able
to go for refusal. The right to say no
was inherent in yes.
Accepting the exorcism and self―
flagellation, exonerates you from the guilt of
giving away; which was not yours. How
can you claim that you are your own master?
You tie a knot on the thread, hang it
on the weeping tree, throw back your head,
and wipe out all the questions, I wrote
on your forehead.
Peace― it will be mine.
Satish Verma, 4 september 2019
Moon Burning
I become again a fakir,
but not on alms.
A giver wants nothing
after a knife thrust.
Take away as many as
you can, my thoughts, my limbs.
There is no language
of charity, in the black hole.
You are the one, who
does not need any ladder.
Sitting on the beach, watching
the waves collapsing.
One day you will move
away from the walkway.
Satish Verma, 25 august 2019
The Dumps
The words had started to fail me.
There was always an ‘if'―
before every war of hunger.
The candlewick has burned
out. I am collecting the―
wax from the eyes.
Wrapped agony, now lifts
the dead bird from the
rose bushes.
The frosted god
will melt to bare a
black stone.
I am not luck
I am not the future.
You know where this path leads into?
Satish Verma, 23 august 2019
Why A Poem
Unfazed you stand in―
a drizzle, to locate the
moon nestling in clouds.
The speed of bite was fatal,
showing the movement
of incompleteness.
I searched the identity―
of one anonymous, who
had fathered an illegitimate eunuch.
I wanted to make a
confession, looking at the
blue sky, about my waywardness.
The crazy thing of mixing
the flowers, winds, moon and birds
with serious chores of life.
Unmistakingly a poem.
Satish Verma, 13 august 2019
A Fracas Goes On
Remarkably steadfast, the
mighty oak was standing up, as
the thick rain was pounding at it.
I had come a faraway to unleash
the tenacity.
The flesh and the moon.
It was the anniversary of ropes
and shackles. You should not have
adored the distant dreams
without touching them. The transcript
was not ready. No template
was perfect.
I would not know most of you.
That was a bliss. In blue and dark―
I will sail for nothingness. No more,
no less. The chirping, synchronized trill
of crickets, encourages to stand still, I listen
without hearing.
I have come back to zero.
Satish Verma, 14 august 2019
Sting's Betrayal
Not settled anytime
between a beast, an angel and the man:
who was indebted to whom.
A cyclic ritual it was, to pay the debt
to the eternal dancer, who
was, harbinger to catastrophe.
Not wanted to be judged.
Fatherless, a shadow moves―
in the womb of justice.
Why do the moon was in distress?
A catmint will improve―
your vision.
No artificial insemination was―
needed. The pungent smell
would put you off.
A taste of triangle, lying
next to the moon
in bed of water.
Satish Verma, 15 august 2019
Dog Days
Why do I give you the bliss―
of my poverty?
The burden of asking, was light.
Not like the unquenchable
thirst of a desert. I will be a
night blooming cereus.
In exile, I will remember
your sky, tying the stars in
my poems, to recall your shades
when the moon moves away.
The sunlight throws the voiceless
profiles of clouds, motionless
suspended, waterless― dead.
There is no traffic, no history
of any scandles. The corners of
my prayer book have―
become dog-eared.
Latest comments:
3 may 2024
violetta
Drzewka do jedzenia:)
1 may 2024
Tak;)
1 may 2024
kb
złotej*
1 may 2024
kontoler żłotej poświaty
1 may 2024
samo życie, każdy swoje brudy ma, lepsze czy
1 may 2024
romantyczny to romantyczny, prawdziwy taki
1 may 2024
ten ketchup to fakt, trzeba przypilnować przy
1 may 2024
interesujący przekaz, jak dla mnie o własnej
1 may 2024
ucieczka z przewidzianym powrotem to też stabilizacja...
29 april 2024
Nie jest niczym podyktowany:)
29 april 2024
sam53
nic nowego, wszystko mam pod kontrolą... tak
29 april 2024
a jak wygląda nieromantyczny pocałunek...?
4 may 2024
Satish Verma
3 may 2024
absynt
3 may 2024
wiesiek
3 may 2024
Satish Verma
1 may 2024
Satish Verma
30 april 2024
Satish Verma
29 april 2024
Satish Verma
28 april 2024
Jaga
28 april 2024
Satish Verma
27 april 2024
Jaga