24 June, 2017


Forever the rituals
of hate and love continue.
The sun survives the feet.

You cannot run. It
disconnects you. There was
no beginning, no middle
no end.

Shapeless, unborn figures will
decide the fate of seeds. You
were sowing the bones.

Pulling out the head
of a terrorist from the rubble,
sometimes you forget―

the contours of the enemy.
Existentially you wanted to crack
open the psyche of man.

It was a blue parable.
Do you believe in utopia?

Satish Verma

Engraving Your Name On Trees

Telling the truth
was becoming difficult. You want to
become a cult.

A sinister design takes
hold of a satanic urge. You
start throwing the limbs.

Was it an emotional upheaval?

The train whistles by.
You are ready to board. Unsleeping
you will rhyme with the wheels.
Home was left behind. A hollow
tree waits for you to become another Buddha.
Fantasy moves beyond the fiction.

Irises move to close
the pupils. They want to become nuns.

The coffin was empty.
A cadaver morphs into an angel.

Satish Verma

23 June, 2017

Green Waters

Gifting yourself the speed―
you betray me, when
I was trying to heal―
the injured wings of time.

Archipelago. The islands
were very lonely in frozen lake.
No boat was in sight.

Having no coastline,
the landlocked language,
suffers the ignominy of the tribe.

The neighbourhood crawls
after the nose-dive of
the plane without agenda.

Shelterless, you want more
sunshine to fight with
the cold beach.

Satish Verma

The Broken Statue

A sleepchaser brings
a quantum of pain
to fight the ugly night.

The patient attack
on the lids
for the sake of absinthe.

The son of lakes―
would bring in goat
to drink the elixir.

I would not talk
about the exile, which
one earned by donating―
the kidneys.

The blade of grace
cuts the sun into small
chapels which become eyes
of street dancers.

Satish Verma

22 June, 2017


Flaunting your new skin
like a salamander,
ready to endure fire,
O stranger,
read me,
read my tears,
the pathbreaker is going back.

I will not extort, never your integrity.
The trump has committed suicide.
A game was over. I am
gathering my ruins to go
into winter sleep.
Let the sun wait for eternity.

Somebody was climbing
on the breast rocks. There were
no landing planks. Words
mingle with four― leaf clovers.
You can inhale the smoke,
eat the walls of palace. I open
the latch of mud house and
disappear in future.

Satish Verma

Pulsating Moods

Advent of strange
sign on forehead was asking
for the laughing eye.

A cessation of
botched therapy was a need.
God was still alive.

The birth pangs
were becoming stronger
with every fall of trust.

The gravest thing
was the love of moon.
It keeps you smiling.

Satish Verma

21 June, 2017

Not A Banal Taste

Privileged of remaining
grey in the hands of enemy,
I say to myself―
why not turn dark.

You will erase the ancient bliss.
It had made you a goliath beetle.

The weapons become the
shining medals. I would fill the―
gap of gender space.

But, when the doors become
shut, light tends to cling
the floaters― moving in straight line.

You reach for the falling
crumbs of age. The pain opens
the sky of withering vision.

Satish Verma