29 September, 2016

Waiting To Happen

Being you,
not the bee queen.
Volatile as it appears, would say
one day, I don't know you yet.

The estranged mogul
returns home, empty-

Don't tell me in
stark and straight words, one
needs clemency.

The flame had touched me.
A strange panorama, created
by the geometry of violence,
now hurts.

Speed and direction
liberates the path breaker.
Resonance of your voice rises,
reading the same poem
again and again.

Segmented icons would not sleep
on the same bed.

Satish Verma


When you take a false
lead, life will undo the seeds
and the cataracts freeze.

This is the story of
a butterfly, in disturbing amber
buried in snowfall.

Can your body take the imprints of flogging?
When you start sketching the polar ice
in the story of death, compounding
the mystry of
unleashing sea
of the fawn eyes, whose message
was sent in water?

Satish Verma

28 September, 2016

False Accusations

Every night you become
an insect, crawl into
the bed and chew the lips of unknown,
listening to the music
of flowing blood.

Outside the slogans―
tear at you. It was a wound
night, the words, untouching the space,
go― straight into the echos,
without any halo.

So where did you sink in
defiant orange of the sea,
while turning back from your designed
path? Another terrorist's sexism
was on play?

There were no barnacles, no
frog mimicry. I silent walk into
the arena to find the length of
the caravan.

Satish Verma


Becoming gold diggers,
the myths, without
ism and orthodoxy.

The creed will not observe.
I will say, I am the god
of ruins.I offer my inadequacies
to be punished.

The passions were rising.
You kill yourself to get the
space, the privacy.

Where the theme ends?
The religion has only absurd
quotations.You always involve the
Almighty- for any fall,
any bloodshed.

The tricks played by blessed
saints.You would always sleep in dark.
Eyes the faded gems.

Satish Verma

27 September, 2016

The Décor

Sexist barbs against
wooden breasts, street-smart.
I am something not, I am. A wall
of tears. Liquid nicotine, I will not declare
myself, creating a poem in different ways.

Waywarding, protégé digs the gullies―
becoming unfaithful to himself. The
hope, will it be extinguished? The
tall mud slide, a devastating statement
burying you, me, everyone.

A black beetle, collecting carcasses,
to feed the young. It is on the rise,
green sea. I cannot see myself bleed,
by the grasshoppers. It is like
committing suicide solo.

Satish Verma

Sense Of Betrayal

You will find one day,
water footprints, when
seismic events stop in eyes.

Don't you think a system
of mutual respect should―
be followed, before the
conception of a new rage.

Moons come and go.
You upturn the clock racing
the time to―
reach infinity.

Where the hundred stars
die daily, do you still
want to become a blue light
in the misty house―
of headstones?

Satish Verma

26 September, 2016

Existential Plight

Will not put any claim.
Neonate my poem
has gone gray.

Black days and white
nights.I will recall my
ghost and ask, O god-
do you exist anywhere?

A thread of pain, makes
a family of feet, climbing
in smoke.

Vulnerable to theft, my
thoughts divert me towards
cemetery, where I will
bury my sins.

You remained a question
for me on calender date.I
will hold on the time,
which has thrown me back.

Satish Verma