15 December, 2017

Sonorous Voices

I wanted to be ready.
Take my consent for the assault,
before you reveal
your fangs.

the fiesty moon, shoots
at the tangerines of orange―
red skins.

The waves will not grieve.
There was ample time
to drown the black buttons
of windshields.

Bleeding mouths of
baby poems eject the barbs.
Forget the believers. There
was no magic in my art.

It was a pure symphony.

Satish Verma


Becoming impersonal,
the observed will speak today,
not the observer.
There were no complaints.

It drills the hole in heart.
But you don't die.
No blood spills.

On the rocks―
stands a temple of unbeing
I am ready to become a monk.

This was not a murder,
not a suicide, if you
want to become a martyr.

The heaven trembles.
Let the veil rise, unmasking
the blind truth.

The mercury was rising
without fever.
There was no alarm.

Satish Verma

14 December, 2017

Wordless Meanings

Touching every lamppost―
counting the buttons,
the palmer moved from
relic to relic,
from stone to stone.

Dipping the moon in dark
clouds, the pilgrim never
stops in night or day. To―
remain poor was his journey.

Shedding the stars,
blacking the sun, the ancient
script remains unread. No saviour
will come from land, in water
on hills. You love to dig
your own meaning.

Do not look back. It is
endless path. You fall and rise
stare at the slanting
eyes of unseen.

Satish Verma

Want To Listen Your Voice

Moonlight you win,
in the dark I fail.

Will you come in the
loop to find the truth of uppity?
A fractured footage―
was silent, hiding behind the words.

The verse libre
was not ready to celebrate life.

The skin purity. Will
you mind to pass on Ammonium nitrate?

My river of eyes has
dried up. Forgive my
benign sins. I am going
to live without you.

The senseless wheels zoom.
How far was the god?

Satish Verma

13 December, 2017

The Exodus

You have reached
on misty heights.

I die again
carrying you under
my skin.

Hidden from the
glare of blazing

In labyrinthine, you
open the knots―
of uneasy breasts.

In silence― we
will give our signs
and part.

My limbs
give out― I walk
in air.

Satish Verma

My Angel

Who will know
except you that I
killed my velocity to meet
you in infinite obscurity.

From autumn to autumn
I will wait for a
collision course of nobility
with pure surrender.

So many tattoos on
your body. How many poppies
had kissed you in the spring?
Shame on the blue sky.

Do you believe in reincarnation?
I was Buddha on death bed
when you had touched
my feet unsolicited.

There was no end of celebrities.
Who was quveten than you?

Satish Verma

12 December, 2017

Middle Truth

White doves
with clipped wings
were losing the visual acuity.

The pride was
damaged without consolation.

How much you can climb
on the heap of the dead?
Honeybees won't buzz now in sun.

Can I ask your real name
by birth? There would not be any religion?

Perhaps I was not pure
as your virgin paradise.

Your breadth does not reach me any more.

I am going high
to confront the unknown,
to kill the flesh.
There were no bones of truth.

Satish Verma