30 April, 2007


To become or not to become a renegade,
or to die or not to die for a semi-god?
These were some of the questions
thrown at an incomplete script.

What elevated you to a celebrity?
Your hump or deep wrinkled groans?
Age is abating, abattoir is empty.
Exile from the past is over.
When you intend to comeback to childhood
and become a simple star?

Behind the mask lies the embrace of death
I am afraid the flames will engulf,
the genius of pathways.
Everything into turn with obsolete gossip.
A patch of sunlight becomes a costly exposure
Bones are entwined in eternal cuddle.

Satish Verma


Symbols are true, because they are there.
Your solemn ache
proud of failure
traces a circle.
Dark and eternal, in all its purity
punishment becomes an award for life.

It is not difficult to know
whether a god exists.
You commit suicide to become a god.

Inoculating falsehood
dying daily unto death was not my pitch.

Your mind breaks the moon in dark,
into hundred bright crumbs.
Each bit becomes a metaphor
To shock the garden.

Satish Verma

29 April, 2007


Are you genuine, I ask?
Your face, a stone wall,
I had been bruising my psyche against it.
I have no strength to bury myself alive,
in the mass grave of lies.

An ancient fear
descends from the hill.
Wants to marry a tree.
Or worship the terror
of a diaspora.

The vultures are dying every day,
We were talking of pregnancy,
desire and death.

The sparrows are gone.
Heat is rising.
I am starting the countdown.

Satish Verma

28 April, 2007


Pardon my mask
I will put you on pedestal to torment me,
because you were necessary
for my existence.
When I prepare finally my death wish
you can smile.

Your eyes are looking through my head,
I know,
you were hurt from my moon face.
I will wash your feet with my tears now.

Exhausted, nameless in a crowd
I was counting my see-through triumphs
all piled up as burned out bones.

To live without meaning is very painful.
Everything is abused for self gratification.
Over a black sky, against the mountains
the old silence becomes teeth of a dead faith.

Satish Verma

27 April, 2007


A candid confession from you,
when your identity started protruding
from innocent rage.

You were accepting defeat
without a fight.

The lips tell the grief of human failure,
your prudence propped up
by Prozac.

A beautiful collection of anxieties
adorned on the shelf of life.

A cruise in veins
to dispel the high cholesterol
dewy-eyed mirror
and ambulating pain.

Satish Verma

26 April, 2007


Was it a spiritual failure of a man
to become an animal effortlessly?
and how difficult it was
to change the street’s crowd?

In the human drama
no dialogue ends. It begins again
and the hero replays the tragedy.

The fight between one versus many
continues endlessly,
like jungle’s law
where a body is thrown to beasts.

Though I have run out my steps
I will count the miles, I have to scramble.
My hands tremble when I write the
epitaph of a dying light on mount.
It is getting dark now.
Saturn will shortly rise.

Satish Verma

25 April, 2007


In the triumph of flesh,
when fame of the world was your thing,
a sequence of defeats piled up
and time became stronger than the symbols.

Was it not easier
to abandon the consciousness?
Living a dog’s life was more comfortable
without a qualm.
How painful it was to know the reality unclothed!

You had achieved nothing in life
and were readying up now
to receive thoughts of death.
Time had no beginning
and time had no end.

Do you think all will be well at last?
Will we be happy without you?
Or you will be remembered as a hero
without a name!

Satish Verma

24 April, 2007


Aura begins from tongue
to spit fire and frozen rain
in the epileptic rage of insanity.

Excruciating charm of august mind
is fading.
Life wants to humiliate the sunshine
and hate desires to meet its rival in disguise.
Hope’s termination had a beginning somewhere.
I search the inky sky for a star.

The void did’t have a center
A collection of tears becomes an art.

A bit of sin here,
a grain of guilt there.
The ending of dark stairs
depends on the black walls.

Satish Verma

23 April, 2007


Before I leave
I will give you my gift
to perceive the human anguish.

Time had passed like a snake
noiselessly, skipping the years
I grieved.

The solace of harvesting the dreams
was thin.
A terrible shadow of a futile

Hopes always lied
hollowed by anesthesia of truth.
A surrogate womb trims
the love.

My garden was always green.
Howling was generating the heat.

Satish Verma

22 April, 2007


Homeless wanderer
my bohemian moon.
I continue my journey
till the clouds manipulate.

Crisp sky favours the stars
in dark night of gloom
of your failed promises,
and my goddess of ruin.
self-deception was a great relief!

Golden praise can do no harm.
You were targeting the great sentences,
and easy flows the river under sun,
there was nothing left in the desert
and slowly burns the cauldron of craft.

That sudden spurt of rage and tears,
strangle of dreams, roses and hopes.
My empty hands, white skin, leafy eyes
Why? Am I tremendous, expanding like sea?

Satish Verma

21 April, 2007


Sitting on the heap of debris
I decided to move one day.
The rain did not stop
I was walking alone.

It was a cruel time, my toes caught
in bad thaw. I was working on a bawling
theme of comatose words, a pottery of sorts.
In fact the fear had not saved me.
The sun did not stop
I was thinking alone.

A prosaic neighbourhood had acquired
weapons, I was inattentive. My wounds
always bled in hooting night.
A flute it seems talked to me.
The moon did not stop
I was weeping alone.

Terrible, terrible it was to abandon
my home of luxury, to become a stone,
to walk like a ghost with orphaned
spirit. The voice without echo, murmuring.
The ink did not stop
I was writing alone.

Satish Verma

20 April, 2007


Distance was increasing
in spewing rage.
I yearned for a solitude of desert
sand and rocks
away from musty tongues
and eros.

Counting my failed attempts
to reconcile with exits
and slant hopes.

Like an eclipsed moon
plying over the hill
to investigate a shorn lamb.
Plucking the hair from a beautiful scalp
to become a nun.

Arthritic river brings back the waves.
Unreachable was the crest.
Today standing alone on the summit
I watch the dropp with grief.

Satish Verma

19 April, 2007


It was the hiatus
that underlying silence
of which I was hearing the voices.

There was nothing left to be said.
I wanted to levitate in void
to unlearn what I understood.

Why the distance interpolates
between the guilt and acceptance?
Leaves are falling in different colors.

Time avenges, burns the grass,
the lips, the retina,
the black walls and white numbers.

Inner peace will return
On the ashes of fallen trees.
Life will resume another journey.

Satish Verma

18 April, 2007


Nothing to look forward
I return my gifts today.
Completely denuded I will spread out in emptiness.

I was nowhere in the circle of untruths,
the pain was slipping inside
and self-denial took its toll.

Nomad in exile
for the kiss of unknown
wandering in whispering streets.

There was no more remorse.
Saffron was the choice of pathos.
A collective suicide of pledges in the sun!

Parallel grief of desert and wind
offers the plundered toast
I drink to my parched lips.

Satish Verma

17 April, 2007


And now the pain wants me to speak,
the words, but I wanted to listen
like winds and keep back the thoughts.

I refused to move from the scene.
God was bleeding
and his dolls were strewn around
on marble floor
broken, dismembered.

No tree was safe now.
The sky had cracked,
off the light. I cannot reach.

The dark thing shoves in,
from a precipice, I am falling,
The pomegranate blossoms?
Where are they?

I am not afraid of a terrorist.
I fear more of the shape
of the humanoid eyes
they are red, very red!

Satish Verma

16 April, 2007


Death was the beginning. My emancipation.
Death of pre-memory thoughts. I am ready to
enter the sound, without a shadow.
The fire from orifice, clouds, tears and
cascading blossoms in a humming night. Love,
clap and dissolution. The construction of timeless
energy. Flight of future. Your resistence
melting like lips, going beyond the chasm.
A sculpted freedom for prophets. False disguises,
some body else’s identity. Eyes were cool but
tears controlled by remote pain. Mirrors
spooking. A knife knows its job. It is better
to slice the sky. Great thirst for hip
graffiti, tattoos and sketches. To be seen
and admired by dregs of social fabric.
The thought surges like the heaving
breast, hangs on the face.
Death was the cracking of dawn.

Satish Verma

15 April, 2007


My nativity at peril
I wanted to stay away from myself
seeking anonymity in inwardness

Death had drawn a circle
my mode of survival depended on
the hopelessness of life
The ant-hills were growing!

The final assault will take place at night
at spiritual depths.
I will be seething with fake acoustics.
Kissing the blue lips of dawn
night bids adieu.
I will move quietly behind the corpse
A dark tribute to the mother of sorrow.

Flames on river, my body was burning
in blue waves
I was repeating history.

Satish Verma

14 April, 2007


It was on. The heat!
When you could not tell the truth about yourself
something I would also not be able to tell it to myself.
How we were deceiving each other?
Why the death had come unannounced?

The mode of concrete reply was not grim.
Why did he go for an unscheduled rendezvous?
otters are going to be ostracized from water.

During eclipse sun entered the womb
spurting semen will make the earth wet.
One penetration, will it make a pregnancy?
Go for the wash, wipe the sin
from your face. Wheels of time will not stop.

My worries are freaking out.
I see a mob of stray dogs
pouncing on a lump of pink meat.
It was a quivering fetus!

Satish Verma

13 April, 2007


Full moon was negating the intensity of night.
I wanted the sacred smell of dark heaven
which was dispensing the forgiveness.
Did not reach the dazzling height of a star;
even conflicts gave me immense metaphors.
Nemesis was measuring the hauled-up mistakes
For them I was tormented by unknown fears
and the ravings were useless.
Deliberately I cleaned my room twice
to welcome the instincts.
Even the particulars have become painful.
What do you think, can we follow the poem
without a title?
The neighbourhood cracks silently
I am not going to flaunt my lesions.

Satish Verma

12 April, 2007


As innocent as buds of jasmine
twilight of a falling night
offsets the nakedness of a baby moon,
the subterfuge of a slant lie.
How crooked was the conviction?

Blessing was flawless. Only the sky
had an anguished exoneration
for a particular sin.
What was put out for a show
was hired.

He did not want to become a spot,
a speck, or an insect. The ending
of lonliness had a high price. Give
and take were insufficient. Only giving
was a gift. Duality of ugliness shined in the mirror.

In despair he picked up the replica
of a humanoid ancestor,
who was to become a model DNA
of a simian who was not capable
of becoming adulterous.

Satish Verma

11 April, 2007


Savage absence of you,
I miss your assaults
what was actual in you, I never knew.

Neither flesh, nor spirit
had helped me.
Somewhere there was a planet I missed.

Or a miracle?
Ending of means was the center of conflicts.
Time was running out.

Genetics tinkered
matrix unmoving,
what implants will be needed for dazzling the heavens?

The desert was crying.
Proud generation charred by transcripts
begins singing.

Falling leaves recollect the pain.
Possibility of pregnancy exiled,
the shivering doorway was closed.

Satish Verma

10 April, 2007


Treading on burning cinders
it was a saga of fear versus unknown.
Stripped, before drooping eyes
scarred, armless, unflying.

Into the regeneration phase:
not a single word, single concern
of yourself, you walked to arrive
without adding a question.

There was a movement without ripples,
death of the black, mottled, many.
I, becoming transcendental scion
of whole, sincere entity.

Melting to start a romance
in the house of petals,
of fragrant pheromones
deluging the phoenix.

To want the crowd, select a colossus
cadaver spreading on mushrooms in field
erect a man in white bones, unrivalled
jealousy of virgins and gods.

Satish Verma

08 April, 2007


In despair,
beyond-pain, I will watch my dreams
in rimless eyes of wet faces.

The lake had been sending back
the white and black shrouds

They were jumping one by one
old and young,
from the twisted planks
holding geraniums.

A warm prayer on the lips,
what was left worth enduring?
The innocence, the guilt, the shame?

Clinging to bloody lumps of happiness
who is going to have a last laugh?
Time is breathing gloom,
body is attached to a pole.

Satish Verma

07 April, 2007


As if my inner sound was demanding
take me for
I want to break into many daughter things.

Half my genes
half my color
partly male
partly female
disowning the boundaries,
my lasting pain of grief and anguish
becomes an androgynous god.

I hear the voices in brain
I see the nebulous thoughts dancing
I touch the fallen tears
from faceless eyes.

All my thoughts are leading to void
coming from nowhere
going to nowhere,
I am water and I am sand!

Satish Verma

06 April, 2007


Sometimes death lives for eternity,
a captive of silence,
or in hidden journey to flesh;
unless the body betrays the falling stars from eyes.

Dying was an appropriate thing
a festival of freedom for veils,
to leave you alone with your morality.

This terrible life ejects you
on the gravel to become a stone.
The fall from the beautiful height
was meant for charity.

No body wants to die for a toss-up
with life,
for a secret game of tears and smile.
The true thing of despair generates
a darkness, whom I owe my light.

Satish Verma

05 April, 2007


It was otherness which bothered me:
nothing happened otherwise.
Brisk and upright
He failed penultimately.

I still hear the footfalls
of circumstances,
of retreated sounds.

The hidden fire lights up
I squirm in pain.
The canopy of false rumors
falls on dirty road.

His gangrene was evident;
still he walked with a glow,
all alone, but listening to howling
and surveying the floods of tears.

A single argument
lifts the tanned skin
displeases the mob
and abandons the search.

Satish Verma

04 April, 2007


Entrailes were sucked by grief
and pleasure bruised;
beyond the possible
I aspired to find
meaning of life.

A will to reject
unbearable waste,
I trim humiliation.
Time scares by taking revenge
breaking the inner serenade,
and I climb the doubts.

Heartache persists without revelation.
no bitterness descends.
I dip my fingers in blood
to write a flaming entity.

Tell me where the masks are assembeled?
Where the lies are born?

Satish Verma

03 April, 2007


Slicing thoughts, destiny
timeness of present, trying to watch
inside. The inverted question. Mask

Your own progeny spying on you,
disowning the moon bears. Beyond
truth was a huge wall. Ensnarement.
Whispers silenced.

A vast void. Interpretation of disguised
Voilence. Hostilities in elliptic orbit. Moon
slaughtered. Death was quick, spurting
the blood. Smearing the intelligence.

Paper weight. Surface tension. Shrinking
supreme. Parthenogenesis. Breaking
the square. Ending of scrolls. Cosmic
disorder. What brains were thinking?

Long speeches. Verbatim fuel. Nubile
bombers. Circus of mediocre legends.
Failed epidurals. History is squinting.
Select values are outworn. I am watching
a very red sunset.

Satish Verma

02 April, 2007


The space was widening. Opacity was
Being. Antimatter in. You were scared.
Why this disintegration? Unthinkable hunger,
Incompleteness. Antithesis of universality. My
smallness. His greatness. The heat sucks the
blooms. Celestial dance of the destroyer begins.

The body makes I. Soul is me. The death
was climbing up the stairs. Hiding
in attic you were singing, refusing to see
the visitor, Dismissal of blast. Was a global
failure. How many bodies you are going to
count? Not enough graves. Mass burial?
or descent in tower of silence?

The sludge. Delta is disappearing. Nystagmus.
No land to build a home. Withdrawal. Poachers
are killing the tigers. Claws for power, killer’s
strength. A tall tree stands on ridge, meditating.
Peacocks are watching. Will be their turn
now? Eyes on the plumage. For clarity,
vision and wisdom.

Satish Verma

01 April, 2007


Polarity hits you at face, Thoughts. Move
inversely. The deed, words, slogans
divide the eternity of time. No hygienic
patience. Persons coming from channels only.

The thing. Image in hundred mirrors.
Varieties of fakes and counterfeits. Foeticide.
Paedophile. Necrophilia. Peddling pink flesh.
It is. Peels of skin left on roads. Your shape,
my contours, his art. I am passing through
a tunnel. Open-and-shut. No end. No beginning
Two nothings.

Will keep on moving. Roaches are scuttling
like rats with wings. Their country. We are
outsiders. Strangers. Not to reveal the names,
No landmarks on walls, intersections, doors.
No vigilance, No corporatized pain. No
bleeding wounds.

Impatience. Nobody opens the eyes.
Long sleep. I pray, no waking up.
Let the global warming end. Let the
terror die of its own Aconite.

Satish Verma