31 August, 2007


The eye within the eye
of a soul is tranquil
but the storm is raging.
Around the body, the cluster of names.
Father and mother,
brothers and sisters,
I am refugee in my home.
I steal glances over the western sky,
a blue star beckons.

Ambition was a small
city in twinkling night
a pilgrimage of amazing nothingness.
My heartaches for the missed
happenings. The decay was inevitable.
The flight of swans continued.
The memories of flowers
had a funeral for me.

Death was ready to strike
eyeball to eyeball, I refuse to gratify
One long vigil was still
incomplete, ash & flame
will break the distance.
Today a song will rise
from the ruins.
I will wait for another blossom,
another voyage to dreams.

Satish Verma

30 August, 2007


Pursuit of a desire
in the middle of philosophizing
life was an absurd idea.
I was drawing a relationship
between reality and death.
Learning from destruction brings a pause,
holding the hyphenating truth.
The energy flows in voices
of charity under the flowering words.

When you slur over a depreciation.
no one knows a bias.
The bridge was incomplete and walls were high.
The decay spilled out of the house, removing rotten beams.
The first and last economy
of throat sinks in
the mud of heavy propaganda.

It was not exactly a storm,
only hollow drums
beating for the drifting night.
The blood drops falling
on the moonlit earth.
The questions remain unanswered
who were the killers
of prophets and saints?
Who had changed the flesh?

Satish Verma

29 August, 2007


Standing on a cliff
holding the hand of a tall tree
the wind said –
I am going to die in few minutes.
Moon was laughing.

In elements of air and fire
a deity was in burns.
Who had the déjà vu?
Sky was wearing white.
A divine mushroom was going to fail.

A purple wart is growing
along the innocent neck.
The colossal death of hungry strangers
is going to go in waste.
“Being” was truth, but conditioned to lies.

King was wearing an amethyst
watching a marathon.
A single sperm will win
to enter a paradise,
for the sake of a celibate.

Satish Verma

28 August, 2007


Non-eye vision penetrates.
The silent song trembles
I weave a pattern
to resolve the crisis
the escape to white
space was useless.
The ending of sorrow
was a movement on circuit
the center has started vanishing.

Thinking was preventing
the completeness of self.
A single flower is answer of nature.
The echo of pulsating memories.
the landscape is full of quotations.
No one reads. Denials
and evasions want more attention.

A new road enters the body
on the edge of a prayer
infinitely small, a handful of vowels
sailing in my mind,
give powerful eyes to faith.
The abstracted meaning
leaves a sweet taste in mouth.
I lay out a mud path for the reader.

Satish Verma

27 August, 2007


Unfolding the dark night,
quarter moon shrinks
The bitterness of the day,
cave weird taste,
burning the tongue.
You didn’t want to live,
anymore. Roots lopsided,
starved. Age, language slashed,
mist rising. Names in the dust.

The ending was not there
sorrow burnt like candle
burning the meaningless words,
dreams, I hear the silent whispers
of wounds of faltering steps,
doubting the pain. Beyond
the age tales were endless.
Watching became a problem.

Nothing could be redeemed
by choice. I wanted
endless journey to find
the windows. long steps
towards immovable cliffs,
my own version of anonymity
and grace. Because glorification
has started the fear,
the escape and suffering.

Satish Verma

26 August, 2007


A view from the cause,
alters the landscape in you
I surrender to the earth,
the roots. Purifying the leaves.
I tell myself, this was not me,
my music. Still my skin
has the tattoos of pandemic deafness.
I am breathing through the lips.

My attachment to death
is a private affair
my voice lies in a lake.
The butterfly in a womb.
the psalms under the rocks.
Is it ending of death
or death of ending?
I go beyond the brink,
dropp the stone in water.

When the moon touches
my eyes, like a kiss
I start sharing the menu of night.
The rimless thoughts are hovering
like small birds. I listen
to their flappings.
Can we live without bargaining?
Do you know the price?

Satish Verma

25 August, 2007


Imitating the waves,
I try to end the attachment
touching the shores,
then moving away.
Search for eternity erases
the designs. Birth
and death cling together.
I let go the passion,
the deviation of fear.
There cannot be two lives.

When the illusion meets
the pain, truth laughs,
I forego my future,
tear the past and burn the present.
Failed life hangs on
the silence of sorrow.
Names don’t hold any charm
they come & go. Days
dropp like long coats
I search the night.

The desperate seeking
will not end the journey
It is there in the dark hole of the heart.
A pitless gloom.
I am afraid to be revealed.
Art of life is scissored,
Anniversary of flirtation
with death forgotten. We celebrate.

Satish Verma

24 August, 2007


Questions are the answers
and answers are the questions.
They never die. The words
collect the dripping wounds.
Memories emmigrate to wasteland
and the city drowns in a lake.
Our infallible pride has no challenge
trust the precarious teeth.

Beyond eloquence life drifts
from unknown to unknown.
A fruitless search in a grey winter
of thinking trees. Tall,
beautiful, but faith has taken a U– turn.
The span of obscurity
reflects a twisted wisdom
burning the books of tomorrow.

The fear, depression
and brutal game of corruptible views
I deal with a non-story
of cultivated meditation.
The duality of hate
and love, bread and hunger.
I stand on a quicksand
to balance the beach
and find the missed links.

Satish Verma

23 August, 2007


Will not show my wounds, life extracts a price.
A heap of pain, squeezed into eyes
hits me with daily bread.
Draws the conflicts
and sets the fears free.
A half moon wipes my tears.
Destiny clings to dust
Phoenix is rising.

Ruthlessly, night causes pain
freedom is in peril.
The soul sings in a withering tone,
for the departing stars. Yellow,
youthful light of rising sun
burns the desires.
We hate the soaring choices
there is no end, no beginning.

My non-self opposing
the empty life, connects
the heart with contents of sorrow.
It fills up the nothingness.
I perceive a spring of forgotten grass,
engaged orchards and laughing fires
in the buds. Time for
the habitat to step in.

Satish Verma

22 August, 2007


The journey is brutal when you arrive nowhere
striving for unsaid perfection.
Life drips. Your wounds snap the love.
A tale becomes a twister.
Between the blinds is buried, the window. In dark
a depression fills the room.
The untethered loneliness.

Fearing from self.
A time to become insane without anchorage.
My ruined book becomes a home for spiders.
Bewildered dreams rise like vampires from the skull.
I will not mourn the body.
The spirit walks like the white light.

It was a thwarted desire, to die empty-handed
beside the troubled mind.
Was there a path to truth?
Being, what lies are?
The soul rustling the shadows of mortal thoughts.
The tree finally gives up
the claim for fame.
The roots squirm.

Satish Verma

21 August, 2007


Let me think without thoughts
to measure the mind, feel the crunching of words.
Time to know the meaningless life.
A flock of sufferings; they were all over
and I was looking at me.
In deep sorrow to go back into myself.

Where were you
in the forbidden void of silence?
The fountainhead drops the legends.
The effort to shift the truth is painful.
I am baffeled by the blinks of lies.
Nothing appears to be real.
Wounds transcend the flesh.

Here I am to feel the blindness of fate
the collapsed roofs of faith,
will discover a new god.
Dry and bright speech
describing the healing touch.
I refuse a diminutive role
of firewood to zip a smokeless fire.

Satish Verma

20 August, 2007


Using me,
I take a refuge in desire.
‘Seeing act’ strangulates.
I suffer in the mists of defeat,
there is no evidence.
One attachment catches the conflict.
The fading light of moon burns my pillow,
transcripts impenetrable theme.

Conceiving a problem
in the shifting sands, life seeks
a view of words and enjoys the discreet
meaningless movement.
We play the game again & again,
feed our egos. Study the sorrow
and give charity to the torn flags
of pride and hunger.

The fear does not end,
the looking does not stop.
Each answer leaps to a grief.
The chronicle of squeezed holocaust.
we were hurting each other
humming a song.
Violence of non-violence was more evident.

Satish Verma

19 August, 2007


The moon scrambles on
the fragrance of the trees
I think of humility & grace.
think of the secret of death,
honey of life and survive
by holding the poems.
I will ask myself
not to invent the echo of tomorrow.

In my aloneness
I watch the dancing of words,
the white tract of thoughts
without thinking. There are
no holes in heart, still the
numbers build the nest.
The abstract arguments of depression.
Lull before the explosive creation.

Movement of grief
is footfall in dark night.
We always blamed the self image
without perfecting our contents.
Liberating self from
bare hands was the theme.
We could bring the screaming moon
to rest upon our souls.

Satish Verma

18 August, 2007


The questions haunt
the genes who could’t stay
in flesh and a womb.
A winter moon picks up
the forgotten trail.
Night slaps a white cloud on my eyes.
A face swims on a lake.
A splash of color.

A yellow leaf falls
on the path of destiny
the moon enters a tree.
Burden of arithmetic shifts.
I take a break from my pain.
A star twinkles hesitantly
outlines a shadow.
I watch a violet flame.

The fear sprints.
I run towards a non-truth
Revenge of love overwhelms,
journies to zero pain.
Inward window opens to more queries.
Life revisits, ignites the dark spaces.
Intimate trust melts like lava.

Satish Verma

17 August, 2007


It was a fractured miscarriage.
The system groaned like a huge cow.
We milked her till human thirst chopped the teats.
I belong to no glamour,
my faults burn like classics.
Total freedom will come
when I am through.

The dates creep under the skin, I faint,
The tiny minims shine on my lips.
The symbols crash.
Me and my shadow bubbling with
the smell of poems,
I come back to arguments.
To justify the Armageddon
of first & last love.

How could it happen?
The fear has death, as a lover.
I sleep with it every night.
The demolition of memory, it sweats like a black cloud.
There is no religion in desires,
choiceless destruction of each dawn.

Satish Verma

16 August, 2007


My brothers killed me for a song
an antithesis to kiss for a chaste tree.
I hold my viscera in cupped palms.
Their eyes burn like flaming windows.
An evening primrose smiles at my stupidity.
Questions have no full stop, I grieve.

Why did they punish me, for my lone voice?
I die daily amidst the barbed
Hawthorns for the sake of posterity.
The ribbed cage of desolation, in the kingdom of potencies.
The innocence drops like,
a terrified mirror on floor.

Death will obliterate, the lights from blue eyes.
I adored a dream, which always stayed in shadows,
The moon will grab a cloud,
creating a music of eternity.
The non-real will become a solid absolute.

Satish Verma

15 August, 2007


A surreal religion comes, straight to altar.
The doubts shift, organise the intolerance.
Life looks deceitful and modesty goes awry.
The craft, the art, the maneuvering become sexed.
Sperms gauge the pathway.

The beauty of empty mind,
always delivers an eclectic music.
We search our hearts, the bared silence.
The death was creeping,
within the seeds and,
we were counting digital roses.
The pinnacle of vision was crumbling.

You squat on the cinders of untruths,
it was powerful dementia.
The denial of fire,
was your timeless perception.
The brain had ruined,
the realm of hard truths.
We were falling apart behind the curtains.

Satish Verma

14 August, 2007


Messengers are out,
dynasty strikes.
A haze of dust storm filters down in tearless eyes.

Not caring, not grubbing my inward eye.
I am becoming blind.
A white moon starts bleeding
under the weight of wingless stars.

You never said,
I never heard the rich voice within
the rocks. A tale went to asylum.
we trembeled under the trees, listening to war drums.

Totems were incoherent. Temples were mute.
I am nude in my wounds,
cannot raise the hands, cannot hurt anybody.
A swallow has made a home in my home.

Satish Verma

13 August, 2007


Let it be as such,
my long cut tear,
Do not dramatize the wound
and put it as an exhibit.
No attempt should be made to mask the fated pain.
Wait for me at the end of the road.

Not for me,
I grieve for the fallen trees, tall glory of past.
It was a question of survival.
Survival of the best, which could not continue.
There is reversal of equatization.
Man has become superior to god.

They are using Him, I am afraid.
Urging him to commit a natural suicide,
a logical ending of a patriarch.
The stage is set for a mass mourning.

A big conspiracy had been brewing
in prisoner’s cell,
which had been in full possession of
whole truth.

Satish Verma

12 August, 2007


Dismembering the wreath,
he went on celebrating his own demise.
Shadow had become a white shroud.

He was spitting blood, when slugs,
hit him from behind.
No body remembered his name

We had been dividing the roofs.
My moon and my sky.
I feel my eyes have turned into marbles.

Castaway I float on conscience, with
blemishes, doomed muscle.
Sun and water were baffled.
Raged against the invisible walls
I was breaking my knuckles.

No body knows, who will outbid
whon. I am lying low,
to rise one day
like sphinx,
on the breast of flames.

Satish Verma

11 August, 2007


Strange it looks,
some one crying on winning a race.
He was o loser and a victor.

After such a long fight,
what is left on a banished field?
broken skulls and roaring laughter,
Everything was crushed under falling snow
of ruthlessness.

And over the fire hangs a skeleton
of past.
The real truth again hides in the
Survivor’s eyes.
There is no witness of any crime.

The court adjournd and the symbolists
Justice has come for a sale.
The highest bidder will get the chair
Now will begin the layered aches
in heart.

Satish Verma

10 August, 2007


Tired of exhibitionism,
nostalgia for an eternal
herd of thoughts -
moves for the real intent
the intensive thirst for unknown.

The lie stamps the vanity on a pseudo book.
Everything turns in a rage,
and pain strips to bone.

Dressed in his gaudy fame,
great idol lifts the arm.
Must I become a part of this motley crowd?

The return is difficult
for the disowned faith.
Great hips, broad shoulders and pointed nose
reach nowhere.

Beneath the disillusion lie the shades
of hope and banality,
to choose a tomorrow
which will never arrive.

Satish Verma

09 August, 2007


I visualize you all time,
my death,
A beautiful partner of my life
my redeemed ego!

Hate was not showing
its concrete face.
Love has lost the scent
and pshyche is leaving the path
of abstract truth.

Bruised, I loathe to go
in this unbridled ordeal.
Intuition or stupidity?

A spotless dialogue I dream
between fear and courage.
At end,
life can flow quietly
amidst the promises
clasping the peace, at its breast.

Satish Verma

08 August, 2007


While going my way, searching an eternal flame
I confront an extraordinary trauma,
God does not live, but dies in me daily.

There was green pain in this condemned strangeness
as the young world moves on
dancing with joy.
It was not a coincidence
that intellectual anesthesia
was not able to bring good sleep.

So much passes by your city
existential traffic, soaring above arguments,
but a chilled, far away voice
defends the crumbling palace of syntax.

The masks are crying from the split walls
languishing in the hopeless garden.
Wherever you go, the windows are closed
and the smoke rings
rising from the chimneys of dirty homes.

Satish Verma

07 August, 2007


Children of sorrow gnaw into their thumbs.
Nowhere to go
nowhere to sleep.
Something implodes in their ruined minds.

Everyday sun comes with a dream
in summer, when jasmine blooms.
This year winter is going to be different.
A tranquil hand will cover
the sobs of wailing buds.

Backward goes the illusion quickly.
Happiness is bargained for excuses.
Triumphantly the nation moves on!

My blood turns blue in the arteries, Rages
Guilt is writ large on the face. Cannot breathe.
The poverty of words weeps in vain.

How long the fear will reign?
The anger of ephemerility and failed promises
moves absurdly in geometrical people.

Satish Verma

06 August, 2007


After an erotic asphyxiation
on the dirty lips of a game,
I hear an immaculate rhyme
like a whore in a prayer.

A hazy patch descends on eyes.
Night slumbers
and day ends with a bang.

The guests arrives with a gusto
dreaming the end of a track.
Grief stands on a banished spot

My flesh, my soul
mourns in the background.
Fear of an organized orgy
ultimately breaks the heart.

Satish Verma

05 August, 2007


You refuse to grow in a grim challenge.
Already the witch-hunt has started.
It was strange to step outside your body
and don’t look at the death
on your doorstep.
Softly flows the dolour in God’s shining eyes.

I have run out my thoughts
my brain wave.
shame to be still breathing.
Starving, I eat the howls
and drink the limbs.
Nowhere green inks writes the passion
A procession of pain
starts in ecstasy.

Your extinct past has entered my body
It shakes and brings tremors
Give me a cup of darkness
I am going to burn my bridges.

Satish Verma

04 August, 2007


Clouds had refused to part.
A fractured moon was walking in dismay
stroking the gazing stars.

Cornwhite belonging of ashes was
to fire, beloved sky was enchanted
with water ceremony
as a sign of gratitude to earth.

The wind decided to reverse the clock
and navigate in trees of waxing summer
blowing yellow crystals of sulphur.

A red admiral lands on a lone marigold
with detachment, surveys pollen, pie-eyed,
dangles, tilting a nod, emerges for another sortie.

If there was an action, I think in between:
live with it in fire of mind. The voyage
begins when the song of eternity starts.

Satish Verma

03 August, 2007


I am asking
who is calling the shots?
The time makes noise,
and silence brings pain.
Years go by.

Night of stars and moon
develops a sonorous dream.
All kinds of brutes and aborigines come to parade
flaunting their arms and ammunition.

Where they are going in veils?
The body of truth is already lying in state.
Magnified eyes stare at micro images
of windows,
through which you could see
long tentacles of an octopus.

Meditation helps for a while,
contradictions arise again.
The empty spaces are being encroached
upon by tall promises.

Satish Verma

02 August, 2007


In unthinkable death how do you carry
An intimate dialogue with death
Fearless, undaunted.
I admire your grit.

One thin blade, one silken noose
but you want to face the bullet
straight in your heart.
The death should come instantly, because you
want to be witness, your head falling with

Why did you chase death
whistling on the beach,
taunting the eccentric sky
like muted revenge.

The grave will be too small for you
Your legs sticking out.
Lime burning your eyes.
Turning back the grave diggers may
not like to face your moved earth!

Satish Verma

01 August, 2007


The decline is steep and fast
Life groans
under the debris of charities.

Can you trespass the designed lies?
When the path reaches the milestone
long arms of justice defies the boulders,
which were ready to build a shrine.

The mutiny was feeble
and the poisoned arrow did not find the guilty.

A big mouth causes
delirium tremens. You weep under a cloud.

Let us drink a toast
in memory of a failed god
Who could not rescue a town
from loneliness.

A courtesan lies in the mid of road
under concrete asphalt.
The wheels don’t stop
and world moves on.

Satish Verma