21 September, 2017

Arts In Telling

I will never be able to―
tell the full story. Winds
are changing and―
the innocence has ended.

Centuries of recital now
starts the inquisition. It haunts
my psyche. In deluge―
the ferry will ever come?

Yesterday you had seen me
in a very vulnerable state.
Even gods weep.
Do you know what is muse,
goddess of art and an inspiration
of a poet?

In one of the poem I had
asked my muse, can you prey for me?
This is my style of conversational
or confessional poesy.
What do you say?

Satish Verma

Some Rehearsals

Talking to moon tonight,
in windless night.
You begin― to reflect― the past.

I pretend― I am gifting you
my poems, while bleeding―
from the eyes.

You will not read,
even once, the steaming tears of stones,
when the volcano―
spews its molten grief.

I am gifting you today, forever―
my summers.

Snow will rush into my veins.
I freeze at once, in memories
of the lone, stark naked, yew tree
laden with red berries.

Not poisonous, I am gifting you
my death.

Take me in your solitude!

Satish Verma

20 September, 2017

The Blessings Fail

It was too loud
to become a savior. You
longed for― only a
flower weight.

I wanted it to last―
my pain― lying to myself.
I will wait for the
sanity to reappear.

Too raw― the codex.
It burns the author. I
will have to learn―
a new alphabet.

The bell tolls,
bell tolls.
Take me to crypt in dark.
I have to read the walls again.

Satish Verma

No Man's Land

It was an explicit "I"―
deeply flawed.
You had started hitting
your peers, asking them
to hate you.

Psychopath?
Mea culpa, who would not say?
Kindles a tender feel―
when you love a pink rose,
not uttering a word.

Scared, my tremors
start like a leaf. Cannot hold
the pen. Very quietly
I print my tears.

Thirst, mouthless―
I drink from eyes.
Earth beware― the crop has failed.
Rancher was going―
to commit suicide.

Satish Verma

18 September, 2017

Straight From Dark

Moon was walking
like your shadow,
grabs you from behind
and drowns you
in water.

This was a battle cry
for a beach murder.

This will a become a talk
of the crowd.
Light enters a bone
and you start glowing.


Was it a realization
of the awakening? The
pain becomes your angel―
of skin.

The cuts and wounds become
your words of unknown poem.

Why you want to play
hide and seek with strangers?

Satish Verma

Red Light

A maverick―
neither tears, nor scabs
I wanted to cheat myself.

Confection may go awry.
I prepare the new text
of wearing the pain.

I want you to stay
beside me, when I am unseated―
holding the clouds.

Discarding golden viscera.
This was my last journey
for taking revenge.

Undulation over. There
will be a vertical
drop on the nails.

On the black stones a fig tree wavers.

Satish Verma

17 September, 2017

In Reversal

The philanderer―
an anti-man, comes for regaining
moral conscience. I
pledge my peels.

Ocimum was not ready
to marry a giant tree.
This war will never be over.

The skin, the deep voice
within, were wakeful in dark. There
was no hope to revive the naked soul.

The sea and the whale.
Competing for death-dance.
Blue sky kills the stars.

Now I will become mute,
watching the jewel-thief…
taking away the golden calf.

Satish Verma