Satish Verma, 14 february 2012
An image was talking to you
in your mind.
There were fudged voices
of foot soldiers of half-gods.
I was scared of synthetic leaves
and black stars.
It was a most explicit blood dance
baring-all, the hiss of cones.
You wanted to define yourself
by overexposing the bisexual
stain. Celibacy was
unleaping in shadow.
The blessings will not wait.
You stay in coma after the haemorrhage.
The bloodbath will find the answer
in fever of sheer size.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 6 february 2012
Lapis lazuli:
like a crazy theme of
hostile doctrine,
spawning a fierce battle
of bulge.
It was scary
like a scrawny lizard
climbing on the breasts.
The hoarse retreat of the arm,
when the lamb did not
squeal under the machete.
Poking in frozen mud,
to find the footprints of a mammoth,
when trees were bleeding.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 5 february 2023
Didn't agree to
sell the dream, for afterlife.
There was dread of
crossing the graves.
Moon intends to
come one step closer, to
find your candor. The innards
wouldn't take off the veil.
There was no iconic
shadow. Hope was fading.
Time to confront the unexpected
assault. Light enters from a crack.
What could be a
second coming of realization
on week legs, in twilight
of disturbing truths?
I am holding the mirror
at a distance.
Satish Verma, 27 september 2022
Keeping the end at bay,
spurning advances in dark,
going for a witch-hunt.
*
For the truth. The man and
the beast were one. You will not cry
for the sake of progeny.
*
The swift fall of pen
breaks the barriers. There was no
one to read the scriptures.
Satish Verma, 26 september 2022
To save the last bruise,
after an encounter with
a kiss of the breaking rock and melting voices.
I did not want to
remember you in twilight
of dementia. There was no birthday for me.
A brown girl drowns
in my deep poems. You had become
a river without a bed.
Can you give me a
name― for my unborn child?
I loved him to measure you my mate.
After all I refuse
to die inspite of all the falls.
Beyond the bricks lies my blessings.
It were only you.
Satish Verma, 23 september 2022
Sitting before the white
screen, thinking―
what to write today.
Suddenly you will appear to
take a sweet revenge.
Proding the sensitivity,
you will not utter a single word.
I will start burning my―
paper boats on the banks of brows.
River dried, no water was
flowing from the dams of eyes.
Only the moon was watching me.
Tomorrow you will find a―
washed out body in dew of a
poem, half buried in red sands.
It still becomes relevant.
You pick up the remains of a saga
make a shrine of the god anonymous.
Satish Verma, 11 september 2022
Not easy to write off life.
Let me go whole. Was it a striptease
of knowledge? Where are the saints?
My averted pains boil.
We are so small. Wingless. It is time to
pray. Is it a Tiananmen moment?
I got nothing in paying
the debt. But I come at par with the
god. I am going to live in a barn.
Satish Verma, 12 may 2022
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, 11 may 2022
Like sheltered, as in fist,
the firefly―
my poem shudders
in your cavernous eyes.
You will not bend down,
to pick up the dropped
coin of moon.
A benign lump
refuses to melt for a
speckled beam of light.
The charred bones
of the burnt-out church,
wait for the second coming.
There was no
curtain drop. Everything
will happen before the weeping grass.
The father and son,
were both guilty― of killing
the mother moth.
Satish Verma, 31 march 2022
O my baby pain―
this house is on fire.
My body is going to war.
A lonely path, in life
and death― where does it
lead to― in wilderness of home?
The mob only loots.
Lynches and hangs you from
the lone tree of love.
I confess, there was
a chink in my armor, not
light but water seeps through it.
You start fearing the
windows. Not noises, time
was slipping pout, never to come back.
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