31 December, 2008


When the battle lines were drawn,
the only mandate
for the human torpedo was to blow up
the silence of time.

Sick was the death-struck
new born, praise of the ghost of tiger
in the name of glory of green eyes.
The orange moon was absolutely naked;

the snow dripped in a cave to form a cone
and the valley was burning wide.
The bag of charcoal given
to a shephered had turned into gold-

nuggets at home. The vultured sky
was claiming more bodies.
A miracle was swelling the crowd
and the crown was proud of deaths.

Satish Verma

30 December, 2008


He was still paying the price
for ultimate unbending.
Before the black icon locked the waves
to start tremors for an apolitical murder.

He took the call and stood straight,
stopped the melodrama of drinking the venom
and became larger than death.
This is the story of a common man,

who remained silent, went on looking
for the invisible marks on the ornamental sword
carved after every farewell to the severed
head of another clan.

Satish Verma

29 December, 2008


Dying piece by piece in shock –
a life without a mutiny.
Walking amidst blue kraits
you never raised the stick.

Of extinct possibilities in the night
of unmanned crossing-
the blood streaked globe goes on
revolving round the blazing sun.

Short legged pygmies waving
to tall peaks of ice from the
burnt-out shelters, to learn
obedience again.

Crushed and upturned, we lost
each other in the jungle of
uncertainties. Peeled off skin
made us afraid of each other.

Satish Verma

28 December, 2008


Night was not worth
selling the womb. Biological warheads
were sufficient to take on
the gender eugenesis.
People were busy again, in worshipping
the archaic weapons.

What is holding them together?
The fear of extinction? Or the celiac trauma
depriving them of all the healthy nutrients.
The warrior is dead, only his long nose
is still smelling the foul odors
of hate and strife.

The beetles are coming and the caterpillars,
swarming over the beds. Where will you
sleep now? And beyond was the life wasted,
and darkness. On mantel are standing
the empty frames of future, trying
to hold the lava, back and forth.

Satish Verma

27 December, 2008


After a sacred kill
you thrived in scriptures.
Many centuries have passed for us
living without you.
Thyme will preserve you body,
your brain, syndrome, for our children.

When the apocalypse starts,
Arctica would keep the seeds, grains, alive
and every death will be accounted for.
From mars the ice will come.
And people will bow before
the chariot of sun for breaking the stars.

Why the sadness is pouring?
I was not afraid of falling saints,
of big poles, but the masks of bones and skull.
Those veils are burning. The grandmothers
look at the blue sky and again we are
distributing our secrets to poor.

Satish Verma

26 December, 2008


I would give anything to die
in you, in your belly,
innocently. My voice of dissent
should hold the wings atop the kisses.

The wards in between fall on
choked Eustachian. A global grief
encircles the fallen gods, prophets
of sins.

My other self silently awakens me,
this very night as I swallow my pride
and walk through the corridors of childhood
to learn again the alphabet of death.

The shadows are lengthening.
One by one the friends have departed.
The hour of loneliness was stretching.
So it be!

Satish Verma

25 December, 2008


To drill a hope in the drowned soul
was very difficult,
winds had blown away
the talisman.

Stress was palpable,
you could tear the weather with empty hands.
Mists had walked into the houses
to pick up the burning cheeks.

Man was playing with nature
until death time.
Stones piled up,
burning tyres on the road.

Visionaries were celebrating the all blinds
day, in an echo chamber_
and all the people were standing
on no-man’s-land for peaceful coexistence.

Satish Verma

24 December, 2008


A pagan will search for antiparticles
after a collective wrong:
some tantric will throw up the smoke rings
before the poean starts.
Come, stand beside me,
sadness is going to find me again

on the oak tree. A hairy spirit climbs up
to give a call of a touch wood for a voyager.
The viscera has been packed for the
final verdict of a forensic lab.
Now I have nowhere to go
between myself and truth.

It might not end, the poor conversation
between life and death.
The eyemask saves the guilt of sleepless
nights at old punctuations. Makes
the words ferocious for the lamenting cause.
From tree to tree the fireflies swing.

Satish Verma

23 December, 2008


It was set on fire, the market place:
from a distance I was watching, the
hieroglyphic climate of the cutouts;

some shoes with yellow human feet embedded
in them, were thrown on the images
of gods, lying on the steps of tanks:

on hills the sex workers were doing
brisk business in private retreats
of the holiest of towns, a golden dome

was being erected as an insult to poors,
the streaked priests chanting the sacred
hymns, hurling the abuses on red faced

simians waiting on the rooftops,
ashamed to share the inherited lineage
but why one should kill one’s own daughter?

Satish Verma

22 December, 2008


Fearing the haze of ending
this body does not behave now.
Puppet show was over.

Punch – drunk we move
amidst the psychopaths, who were
foraging the aroma from armpits.

Loincloths hanging on the strings to strangle
the pigeons.
Everything moves with precision.

Sex on the mind.
The master wants the untouched flesh,
quietly without any sound.

Satish Verma

21 December, 2008


It was a taxidermal view
thousands of fawns on the lake.
Can you handle the die-off
of the whole truth?
I have nowhere to go. Genes are
turning on, turning off. Bare hands
holding the bruises.

Hungry, but cannot eat
looking at the tattoos on the back of
starving children.
I am sick these days in the midst of glory
and shame. Faithlessness is a prize
wrapped by shadows. The snakes
are climbing on the walls.

Human things, like chimps
kissing and hugging to calm down.
in memoriam of a lost tribe.
The body of a chaste god
lies buried under the debris of unholy secrets.
Homeless I wander, beneath the high sky.

Satish Verma

20 December, 2008


Afraid of each other
we are hiding from farewell.
At stake was our nest,
you did not want to leave.

I think of kissing the dead eyes
of a phoenix,
I am a flame and I am ash.
The clouds will come as a curse.

Scissors: your lips had tormented me.
Why are we separating the grains?
transparent hurts?
Something we did not want to say?

A parting gift of silence
will haunt the blind memories.
I am walking on the rough terrain.
You are sailing in the sky.

Satish Verma

19 December, 2008


Suckers of an octopus arm
like ziplocks
around a bleeding artifact,
for signature erase
on shared bed.

Few oily drops
simmer down
from the wheels,
the raging grief of the centuries.

Arrival had been delayed
of charred remains
of toxic news.
Repair of the ozone layer was garlanded
as a birthday gift.

I did not want the variety of answers.
Snakes and lizards have entered
into the skins of dark men.
You kill a snake,
a bruise comes on the face of the moon.

Satish Verma

18 December, 2008


you heave a sigh.
In peril, mother of peace?

Real threat
to ice lingam? the Creator?
Falling apart?

Cat’s claw was not healing.
Where the greens will go?
The pods, the seeds?

Tara, Tara!
come again,
we are waiting on the hills.

Glaciers were shrinking-
rivers are sad
and trees are weeping.

Satish Verma

17 December, 2008


Your absence was left beside me
for the white salt,
unsolicited, unbroken wants.

Asking to return
the dried roses
pressed between the pages of talking book.

Counting only the dying fireworks
the hissing sparks,
left in the unwrapped bones and skin.

In my solitude I reach your smell,
your lips still warming my vessel,
my drink.

Vindicating the tarred hurts,
the never name,
and twisted lyrics.

Satish Verma

16 December, 2008


Between want and desire
few crumbs of words
will not satisfy.

Facts and perception
build a latticed smile
between tears.

Discreetly life catches
a miasm, a fault
to commit suicide.

When will the exile end,
of hope, a holy womb?
The stink was rising.

Amnesty for amniotic fluid,
fetus was dead
Godmother was crying.

Satish Verma

15 December, 2008


I have dipped my fingers
in the blood of the victim
and asked for the version of the surgeon.

The precocious death?
Do I need another witness?
Who was trapped under the fallen tree?

Only the passer - by was hit
not the bulldozer
which comes from the palace.

After the rain, tortoises will come out,
parrots will be shot down
without any qualms.

Molten lava flows on the thighs.
I come before the symphony and shout:
our homes are burning.

Satish Verma

14 December, 2008


dark matters are floating
like bowls made of leaves
spilling hunger, make me upset, figures moving
like ghosts wrenching out the fish plates
from rails, nothing will move now except
the eyebrows of stone faces, bodhisattvas
sitting in scorching sun, unshaven, crosslegged
waiting for realization to come, not to
them but tormentors, a milky way in ever
night, the dry wind slaps on the faces
to remind them not to sleep, the shade
of the Cacti and Acacia seldom stubborn
to give you the shadow of the blades, the
sun ultimately compresses you in the
waist- high grass of death trap.

Satish Verma

13 December, 2008


Pearl – drops
on your upper lip:
heat –
of a stand-off
inside and outside.

More spiritual
I become
the black eye,
I want to go back
with empty hands.

My home
is far away,
where dark squints at the moon.

Satish Verma

12 December, 2008


After dousing the bride to a nice flame,
in between the howls
there were songs.

On mud path the hoofprints
came out prominently. On bullock carts
they had come for a sit in,

to resist, rebel or kill.
All day the heat, dust & winds
blurred the vision.

Hills between us
to feed the hate.
It is nothing like the good old earth.

The nascent bleed.
Time of non-movement.
Shadows of snow-peaks.

Satish Verma

11 December, 2008


The wait begins adorned with symbols
for shadow to fall
between hope and pretention.

The moon will talk
when the dew returns
and clouds are hiding.

He will come in a black cloak
for a final assault
with broken promises.

Is he untouchable?
You cannot embrace him?
Walks like a ghost between me and you.

Our past, open-eyed, the truth
happens on road
in crowd, in our home.

Satish Verma

10 December, 2008


To disconnect oneself
you push apart, from the stasis,
like flesh from the bones.
Coming home becomes dreadful
when you discover yourself.

A dark energy impels you
in a cosmos which was drifting
towards eternity. A fight between
space & time ultimately settles
for a second life.

Paralysed mind goes into dementia.
A riverbed, waterless, where you can dig out
the ancient marbles, edifice of a great flaming past.
It was obscene. At a hunger meet
tables were set with delicious cuisine.

Satish Verma

09 December, 2008


The show is on.
Sedition will play with death now.
Deceitful black knives, white gloves.
No hope, battle lines are drawn.
The wasps are whirring at a furious speed
stings ready to inject venom.

Bronzed body,
huge turbaned skull.
Eyes looking beyond you,
hauls you through slumber
of ages. The autopsy extracts out a bullet
fired at close range, poured into chest.
Death had a party.

Frilled guns,
yellow metal
are ready to kill.
Extended pain of centuries haunts the future.
Give me the tearful farewell
for another ruined journey.
We will bury the present, forget the past.

Satish Verma

08 December, 2008


The reverse gravity pulls me
into timelessness,
holds me to become free from tremors.
The truth of zero morality
I am pathless, secular,
The blank paper decides, how the fingers
will move. The uniform
has a secret rendezvous
with golds.

There was a dark zone,
the chimney, the indifferent smoke
curling upward.
The torch fails.
At the center of the conflict
rises a desert boom, instead of roses.
Non-violence, a forgotten word. A group
of shaven heads mourns. Royalty does not
want to leave the palace. The bodies of
slain innocents –
are placed collectively on a huge pyre!

Satish Verma

07 December, 2008


That grave alchemy
of cold fusion,
of turning mercury into gold,
makes me undone
in a fit of anger.
Punished before the crime committed,
of saying no for yes,
of disobedience in the face of a command,
I am becoming a beggar again.

The land of gold dust
evokes a disquieting sadness.
Smell of hunger and blood, takes
me to concrete nothings,
collects the emptiness from the wrinkled eyes.
The lake-salt, dry loaves and onions for a quiet dinner.

Fear in absence,
starts a fear of future,
the sound of unblinking darkness whispering.

Satish Verma

06 December, 2008


Living on fringe
he was stealing genes.
Fear of rebirth
started a dialogue with death!

Ignited by an asexual urge
the belly went into flames.
The super star dived in sea
dragging down his old father.

The sleek content of million years
defies the water, the wind.
The godhood remains a mystery
in the blue shapeless sky.

The impatience becomes the godmother.
Like mushrooms we grow.
Nobody will notice the change.
A white shroud stuns the artist.

Satish Verma

05 December, 2008


Nomadic moon was roaming
in the maddened fear of night.
A wordless journey in silent dark.

for a painless being,
sustains the blues of separation.

An inverted green
puts the roots upward
to send a message.

Fear breaks the bones
to mould the claws.
There was no oblique answer.

Nobody was blameless.

Satish Verma

04 December, 2008


Lines on forehead are deepening.
No signs of abatement
of fire in our bellies.

The hunger we inherited
is only comforting
the mouthless.

Broken laughs.
Strange bedfellows
chopping off the murals from the lips.

A body rots,
Maggots fly.

Negotiations are still on.
Who will dissect the legend
to find the cause of death?

Like a clay model, a soldier breaks.

Satish Verma

03 December, 2008


Walked into the sun,
He. With weak flesh.
A storm was raging on burning sands.

In hollow of his knees
gravel was hitting hard.
He moved onwards in trance

Visionary, homeless, life in open
was blessing.
A huge crowd followed him, voiceless..

Hushed silence breaks the dam.
Valley of timbers was ready to receive the blood,
from epicenter, from fields.

Satish Verma

02 December, 2008


On the hay stack lies my body
brought from the shooting range.
Brain dead, I exit, to watch
the blood drenched earth. Foot prints of eternity.

Window is shut. No light enters.
In tiers, the cadavers are lying in a heap
of stinks. Violence has brought the perfect
insult to bubbling life.

A naked truth sweeps the floor, burns
the statements of filthy peers. I was
young with small eyes, full of water,
in the face of crime, looking at the stars.

Death will walk on payments now.
History will ooze in spurts.

Satish Verma

01 December, 2008


Give me a piece of your body
before you go.
A tooth, a nail, a curled hair.
A relic, my sadness wants to keep.

By your absence I will live
in the bones of tangled bodies,
who were shot down on their tracks
under the sun, eyes apart.

The trembling does not stop.
Bread loaves were lying uneaten.
Wailing rises, reaching a crescendo.
Blood splattered soil, my hands collect

for god, to show a dirty game,
when I meet him as a witness.
Wanting to know, why not the right to live
was the most sacred thing?

Satish Verma

30 November, 2008


There were subtle declines,
still I opted for incompleteness.

A fierce battle was raging.
I think to start my descent

in roofless castle of mania
to watch the self-destruction of a landscape.

Thousands were squatting on mud tracks.
till the dead rise from their ice beds.

Ghostly hands were building the fire
to send the rivers in exile.

Hunger will decide the fate of the earth.
Man was playing with the sands.

Satish Verma

29 November, 2008


A quest for celestial insanity
brings some comfort.
Somewhere the script had failed.

Only man was not responsible
for the exiled sun.
No longer the earth obeys the numbers.

Wait, my mother
I will enter into your bones
and increase the serotonin flow.

A father killed his daughter
for the sake of a dragonfly.
Downstairs moon was sleep-walking.

A constant dialogue
between flesh and a tyrant
was satisfying the sadistic god.

Satish Verma

28 November, 2008


sometimes he was talking to flowers,
asking their names.

In the house
that never sleeps,
infidelity brings the charm.

Intense gravity
excoriates the crotch.
A supernova is born.

Worlds apart,
I am there,
where you were not.

A burnt-out wall and broken window
were left to tell the tale,
but door was still there shut.

Satish Verma

27 November, 2008


Have-beens went into fury.
Like silkworms, after the shock
spinning the myths around them.

Then the gossip will turn towards
the words, locked in extra
sensory awakening.

The gametes move in a chasm,
needling the pastoral scorn.
From the barrel of a gun flows the religion.

Spreading the thighs and baking
the sweet croissants. Will the honey
heal the wounds?

Of centuries? Moon god to moon god
under the swaying palms
man still cannot bring the house in order.

Satish Verma

26 November, 2008


Born out of hate
condemned to fear from each other,
the race lives, the race dies.

The loser finds a quotient
to dig a mass grave
for innocent paeans.

My stains were bigger than you.
In no man’s land, a corpse
is lying unattended.

A terrorist strikes in the house
of god, who will not react
in the face of a massacre.

Death will not atone
the grief of a child,
whose mother did not come back.

Satish Verma

25 November, 2008


It is,
what do you not say
I read the dusk
on your eyes.
Unspoken words

A timer,
quartz clock,
ball bearings, pellets
croissant of terror.

Suspicious of the lady
riding on crest
for the happenings.

hair raising,
turns back the centuries.
We lose,

Satish Verma

24 November, 2008


Burnt-out myths in the old city
are stitching the lips of people.
Pink walls smell like blood.

Priest is dumb, hoisting the headless
deity on throne. Marigolds
are soaked in flowing tears.

Innocent wheels riding against blast,
stand still to measure
the half-life of seizures.

Cult was spreading in place,
fingers and cells Dynasties inheriting
the bleached fathers.

The ages rot under the sculptors.
We walk on water, wordless, sightless
for the thin hope.

Satish Verma

23 November, 2008


In the valley of blasts
a row of jacarandas
tall, sweet smelling,

shed blue petals endlessly.
A colossus spread
on wounds of earth.

A small girl with pellets
in her belly
was searching her wounded mother.

Essense of sorrow
helps to find myself,
in defense of freedom.

In the city of death
an unbeliever like me
wants to find peace with God.

Satish Verma

22 November, 2008


What is the relevance now
to live for a cause?
Epicenter has changed.
They were altering the human gene.

Butterflies, the lips of squealing
babies. I was very fond of monarchs,
flying in huge clouds, settling like
a drizzle on pink rose bushes.

What do you want to achieve
by cold-blooded murder of the sleek geniuses?
Death was smiling. You deny the god’s script
in the temple of your faith?

Nascent crimes are still rising
in the face of human suffering.
After the earthquake, in the rubble
we let them come, the young shoots.

Satish Verma

21 November, 2008


In a pool of blood
a face swims.
Under the boulders
there is a muffled scream.
Your private god was not there.

The space is littered with death-snacks.
Births a bloom of limbs,
stained shirts,
twisted wheels.
Dam of tears had a breach.

Stampede of legs –
abandoning the footwears.
Faces disappearing in smoke, confusion.
Road is deserted. A white pigeon lies dead
on his back, slicing the air.

Satish Verma

20 November, 2008


Watching the ascension
of half-moon from the brown hills
there was a blast in veins.

A raw hope strokes the clouds.
Starting a fire in stars,
making you blind.

Till the eyelids become heavy
with guilt, striving. Waking up
in middle of blue.

I was trying to reach you, when you
were not there,
wounding me in void.

Satish Verma

19 November, 2008


Deep blue, almost black,
my ache of existence.

Eyes, no body in focus.
A grey cloud
rowing the moon
amidst red stars.

Bronzed tongue
digs the spirit
out of flesh
behind the shadows.

Alone me
in unlived house of rags,
looking beyond the walls
other side of tomorrow.

Satish Verma

18 November, 2008


An oriole gives
an edgy call
in the blaze of morning.

I am not fully awake,
sky is melting on window.
Death has company.

Zen, it did not connect me
with your god.
I am tired of pretentions.

Small was the wasp
in a cobweb of pain.
It floated a sign of conflict.

My thorn did not prick your petals
in vain. Dead leaves
started bleeding.

Satish Verma

17 November, 2008


I have peeled off my eyes.
Fear of unbeing creeps in,
genes were escaping.

The thin affair bends
under the burden of vague uncertainty.
A smoke rolls out from choking throat.

A word leaps high from wounded pride.
The author does not know the sting,
blames the ears.

Hails will strike when you open the door.
The past will question the future,
the anguish of infinity.

Satish Verma

16 November, 2008


When you were rolling in dust,
a puritan said, truth was me.
It was getting dark in Himalayas.

Black words, black themes.
You have started a journey in daylight
in a hot desert of fear.

Tormented, because of the heat
of arguments. Mimicry makes you sick.
Mocking birds fly straight for lofty peaks.

Self-denial was hurting sometimes
against copious rewards and generous handouts,
like pinned on a totem.

The happening must start
with hidden promises of price.

Satish Verma

15 November, 2008


The twisted moon
moved horizontally,
plunged in cleavage
of dark trees
eating the stars.

Aloneness; midnight dream,
faces the wall of nails.
Scratches on the flesh
blood oozing.
The benign end.

Put off the lights,
it helps to think clearly.
Drape the mercy of night.
Snake was hissing, may strike.
A cramp will kill the joy.

The fish will be welded
to a candle.

Satish Verma

14 November, 2008


Black fire was furtively raging
after the massacre of moon.
I still stood with feet of clay
to experiment with my lies.

Bare neck hanging, something
has to be done, to make a gift
for the sake of truth, walking alone
without an effort.

I suddenly realize the illusion
and fail miserably in a perverted manner,
make a mockery of the death trap
in a hospital of thumbs

down, to roll the carpet.

Satish Verma

13 November, 2008


Right on top, you were inching slowly.
United in hate
they were tracking you.

Trespassing the epochs
you want to go back in stone age
to retrace the steps
of a homeless sapience.

In the brown desert of high hunches
you were treading haltingly
hounded by rivals,
utterly unethical.

You drew a circle
without a center,
readying for a guillotine.

Satish Verma

12 November, 2008


An acid dropp burns your lips,
dares you to question
the continuity of crossroads.
Nowhere you reach.

A burden to accept
the gratitude of a cactus
for permission to bloom
in starless night.

The perversity prevails over the body.
You strip to the bone
and start a blue fire
in the valley of denials.

The skill breaks the terrible wall.
Unlike a paperweight you bend
a clean argument
and climb on the stings.

Satish Verma

11 November, 2008


There was once a worried face
who unbuttoned
a white fire

in a pink hole
of an eye to lift
the fingerprints

of depression. It was
a closed-circuit
for a galaxy of

hot flares and flying hurts.
You must not cross
the threshold

of silence, abducting
the blood stained

Come back to your home
O grief,
the fog is thickening outside.

Satish Verma

10 November, 2008


Your unclaimers
will miss the date
with a lunatic world,

what might
you need
for the final journey.

Don’t stop at midway
to watch the history
taking a turn.

A crispy sun
was waiting in meadows
to welcome bonhomie,

freedom of unlacing
the foes. The flesh sends
upright signals

for releasing the soul.
The incredible smell of bleed
will hang on the solid stings of space.

Satish Verma

09 November, 2008


Finally I found myself.
This book of life
had never been the same.

Who had invented God
from the pilfered version?
I say my prayers aggrieved.

Again solitude murmurs.
This twisted world
indulging in phallic worship.

The huge torch in your hand
lights the ugly feet
leaving footprints on dignity.

Blood bath of humming-birds
on the sand dunes of silence.
Children are frightened.

Hungrily I follow the scent.

Satish Verma

08 November, 2008


Sometimes horizon roams with moon
I pluck the stars
night drizzles from the dark clouds.

A shadow falls on the door
without struggle or rumor
I know he has come, my guest
the survivor of genocide.

He has come a long way
a message on his parched lips
he rubs hands.

Inferno he says. Holocaust he
murmurs. It is here again,
whole world is under siege.

He tells me, do something for the grass.
Ask your god to come back from domes.

Satish Verma

07 November, 2008


The evening wind tapped me on the shoulder
gently and said:
“Clouds will talk to you now”
I turned around, looked up at the sky
and drops filled my eyes.

Daily I was drinking hemlock
to understand my ignorance of virtue.
He is gone, but I want to feel the ascending
paralysis, a tincture that is called poison.

For the sake of others, below the faith
lies the pain concealed.
My cup is full. It spills on the soul
and I grieve for the defiled truth.

Satish Verma

06 November, 2008


Till last moment, life can produce a meaning.
Of sky, stars and space between darkness and light.
I am not going to weigh the burden
and insult the ‘how’ of impossible,
so much is still to finish.
I am not going to commit suicide.

Are there any takers of grass, of moon
and scented winds?
the borderline is very vague between
ecstasy and depression.

A bit of silence, a patch of sunlight
I drink my cup from the tranquil hands.
I am water, I am fire
The fear is not going to dissipate me.

Satish Verma

05 November, 2008


Looking beyond the window
I always wanted to shut my eyes.
No sky could hold my head.
I did’t want to see the innocent smiles
vanishing from the moulded faith.

The smell of burning leaves waftes through
the catacomb of dead thoughts.
The time does not spare any overflow of poetry.
Life extracts its price of tomorrow.

Nothing will change. People will laugh,
weep and mourn. A candle for those
who jumped from minaret of silence. A
bonquet for them who died on waves.

I will hide the kernel under the mud
by stealth One day amongst the
spikes a pink spirit will rise. A double landmark
for death and dust.

Satish Verma

04 November, 2008


Reticent were moon, sky and birds.
A pall of gloom spread on the trees.
Stoically I rode on the wings of pain,
to watch the descending values.

A timeless truth separates the charm from lies,
and I long for the generosity of past
which could connect us to future.

A flame burns the eyes.
When we took the wrong road?
Still the fever is rising.

Gods sneak into our affairs.
A firebird flies in the space with long span of shadow,
the helpless victim lies in wait, to be dispatched.

Satish Verma

03 November, 2008


I watched helplessly, my body being taken away
limb by limb
Life was becoming meaningless for the keeper.

So much chaos and fear. Flash and shadows
will not coexist in the same house.
Salt was diminishing day by day
and tasteless was cyanide.

You start beginning to understand,
death was not the key.
You have to ask for living without insult to ‘Why’.

How far you will go on the bridge?
River flows tumultuously under the feet.
All around a smell of burning flesh.
The spark was igniting internally.

I was water and I was stone.
Years were passing away without remorse
hiding the death of human spirit.

Satish Verma

02 November, 2008


The other side of life behind the barbed
where they were seeking gratifications,
I was entering the past, without pretention.

Time will cleanse the mutation. I will
be breaking the god’s boundaries. A theme
of nobility has lot of troubles.
If I were poaching on death, that was unintentional,
life seeks a revenge on being denied
a place in sun. I will drink my own
My ashes are not meant for praise
They are to be strewn around on hills
whom I could not climb.

Only the fragrance of wild flowers will
bring back that cool goodbye.

Satish Verma

01 November, 2008

UN - ME - ING ‘I’

I want to shake them off,
weird thoughts,
like a swarm of bees,
buzzing, whining, aimed at nothing.
Want to write me off?

Loneliness. I
observe the hands of a watch
looks like they are not moving.
Time stands still.
Waits for me to move.

An atavistic ache.
Again I view the world.
Every body is making a sound without bending.
With dreams dead I step into emptiness
barefoot, to feel the earth.

Not going to quit,
free to kill my ghost
I move into sunlight.

Satish Verma

31 October, 2008


No more venom for me. My throat is full
and sore is spurting.
King cobra, take rest. You must be tired
after going for so many bouts.
Sleep well. I have to wake till eternity.
The time is running out and I am ready
for judgement.
A miracle has happened in the hungry eyes.
God helped them to hang with folded hands.
Nobody cried for dead.
Spates of suicides told it verbatim..
Names of victims were engraved
on painted boards.
Souls were covered with innocent songs.

A brutal wind blows. Everything
looks normal and serene.
Dirty lanes are again full of trembling
legs in wait for the handouts.

Satish Verma

30 October, 2008


Your truth always happened at wrong time
You were guilty of telling lies to death.
Swimming all over the life’s ports,
jumping up and down in a stinky swamp,
one day you were caught behind the epigram
encysted in perversity.

Let us talk about the frosty relations
breaking the norms.
Who is afraid of impromptu love?
We do not want to speak about the wasted
years thrown on garbage.
Every book was tossed out of the window,
mind became hollow.

We lit the candles with tears,
the mist enveloped us in intimacy.
Some of the days burned like dry wood
and some days grave-diggers arrived.

Satish Verma

29 October, 2008


Night melts into tears,
day sums up the pain.
A fear stalks the flute,
and darkness falls on the drapes.
I was lake,
and I was sun.

I held you on to my breast.
give me your fangs,
and give me your venom.
I am blue and I am the death.

Centuries of wounds
and millions of scars.
Silence of sky,
and lull in the clouds.
I am the storm,
and I am the gale.

* I am... I exist...

Satish Verma

28 October, 2008


A sin between us
transcends hidden paths.
I start digging endless questions.

What was that interminable and esoteric?
Give me a clue. Lift your hand
and write the name of the recluse.

I am connecting to unknown
for the answer.
we are all guilty here.

Do not wait for me
I have steered the boat
towards the rapids.

Without time a half moon
will shift
And I will weep for the fallen saint.

Begging for the words
beseeching the pernicious wounds
I will go in hysteria.

* The protagonist in Spanish Tragedy of Kyd.

Satish Verma

27 October, 2008


Let it go, do not touch it,
you had been negating the bare truth.
I was part of you
once at the shore of tragedy.
Life was treacherous
and I was free to laugh.

Come September and I will be chasing
the fireflies again.

How time takes revenge
from the innocent commitments?
You start returning to your roots
and I was still surfeiting
on the secret fidelity.

Where was the need to be tied down
to god? No body was honest to forsake
the fear of nameless nemesis.

The myth of rock still haunts.
Water still boils under the clay.
Petals fly in dark alleys
and I cannot find the door.

Satish Verma

26 October, 2008


If hate was becoming an absolute truth
and love was transcending lies
where do we go now?

This daily life, I was seeing
the pain of troubled identity,
turning into punishment of unbecoming.

The hired untruths
are killing the tender doubts.
No body wants to look back
at the subscribers of violence.

Be my friend.
Let us go for a pilgrimage into past,
for a sacred bath.
Uncovered and naked
in the hot spring of madness.

At last we will take the heat of sun
in open sky,
manipulate the wind metaphorically
and sleep in our bodies.

Satish Verma

25 October, 2008


Let us not cry for the fallen statue.
he is still alive and writing his own epitaph.
Eagles sitting on tall branches
will wait for the prey.

Why did he fake for a genius
running the lives of millions
toward the gates of heaven?

Do you think the quality of question marks will suffer
when answers remain incarcerated
in a system with flawed satisfaction?

I am going to die of shame
being only a bystander, in this bleak times.
Every day a murder of a blue chorus
is being announced.

Let me sing a new tugging anthem
sweet in my heart
harsh on my tongue.

Tonight a full moon will make me weightless
and I will be orbiting like an earth
around a burning name.

Satish Verma

24 October, 2008


Today the poem was still on the brink
of completion,
but never came to an end.
The whole day it was burning
in restless mind
and I looked down from a hopeless height.

No further movement of thoughts,
only dizziness.
I craved for a clear vision
between retinal haemorrhages.

Was it a hara-kiri?
I cannot move the pen.
Being half or complete
what was right?
There is no completeness,
only recalls of piecemeals.

Hiding behind excuses and myths,
failed to go for vivisection.
Or life failing to talk to death.
One day
I will pay for closing the door.

Satish Verma

23 October, 2008


After drawing a self-portrait,
I want you to believe
that I am not in it.
The style of rebellion cannot be judged by
blurbs only.

A chunk of refusal,
a narrow escape,
and thin veiled hysteria,
all go for a parody of exactness,
which had been really absent from our lives.

Can you find out
who is betraying whom?
where the tears are migrating?
And where the smiles have gone?

Instead of brutalizing,
I care for the tender torches
moving in the dark bush.

A precise definition is needed
for self-denial of molten lava
which moves like a river
but does not grab the heights.

Satish Verma

22 October, 2008


When glacier recedes,
Your eyes start flowing,
and by the swollen river
an island is swallowed up.

You swim from the lake to the shore
of grief to err again.
Water was your home,
water is your life.

Soft marble swells up in deep crevices
of brain, shaking the foundation of
thoughts, naked as it is.

The fog sleeps on the sea for eternity.
The wrath of sky will burn the skeletons
buried in sand.
Summer will bring the violence.

You cry for forgotton greens,
and kelp and sailing ships
full of hops.
When the hymn recedes,
your eyes start flowing.

* A line from one of Kabir’s famous poems which means ‘O lotus! why thou witherest thus...’

Satish Verma

21 October, 2008


Long night will start the pincer movement;
pyrexia is rising.
Something like an extraterrestrial hand
digs deep in the mind to open the tomb
to unravel the tragedy of nuts and bolts
which could not fix
the mutation of the hour of death.

Dark blinking lashes of soul
measures the cliffs of silence
and then pours the hot red
vermilion in parted wisdom of sky.

The clang of bones again penetrates
the liver. The green flaming jelly of
innocent bellies.
The hyacinth is choking the village pond
hiding the corpses of precious flowers
with green blood.

One day foundation of skeletons will build a
temple of hope.

Satish Verma

20 October, 2008


A useless space between the sentences,
ghastly story does not end in black and white.
Again the heart cries.
I keep on knocking on the doors
and then return to blackness.

Sometimes people become insects.
Cockroaches, ants and spiders,
weaving their webs and hills,
crawling, creeping, clawing.
Flesh eaters. Pouncing upon hapless victims.

Depression. I am devastated.
Something churns in breast, dousing the spirit, lines and words.
Cannot sit quiet. Agoraphobia. Don’t want to talk.
Somewhere a name crops up. Saint or beast.
Under the trees there is no shade. I walk barefoot.
Hungry dogs chasing the flies.
Humidity fills the eyes.

Silence of the night.
City has stopped running.
All the dead will speak now.
Not asking any revenge,
but peace for the living people.

Satish Verma

19 October, 2008


Have not asked much,
still attached to you with subtelities,
I wanted freedom from you,
For removing stings from the flesh.

Anxiety was the darkest color
of floating buds on lake.
Sitting on the edge of panic,
I started counting the waves.

Mixed emotions always subtract a smile.
Just lonely, I went for the swim in rimless agony.
Have not heard much of you in ages.
Still memories crop up for a while,
I wanted nemesis from you.

Talking of blue and white clouds
love has many moods.
Devastated by a burning moon
I was wishing a watery burial.

Satish Verma

18 October, 2008


I must not go beyond sunset
to discover the consciousness of night,
Standing alone on a cliff
I was ready to jump for salvation
atoning for guilt of survival.

My regret was time
and timeless suffering.
Where was the maturity of age?
Mind must go for the beloved ones
for a virginal touch of flawless blaze.

They should have come to join the prayer
not for me, but for the dying sun,
and white valley of fears.
Half my tongue sings for the shade
and half I cry mutely.

Satish Verma

17 October, 2008


I was not capable of
contradicting the quietness.
A silent emotion was insulting me.
Forgetting the self-denial
I went for choosing the impossible.

Am I sick of myself?
The agony overwhelms me with mystic relief.
Here and now I feel the human spirit
outsmarting the gifts of revenge
in the eyes of past.

No hope of breeze. It is hot inside,
the spirit burning. False peers
were scoring with debts of darkness.

Tiny ideas crowd the mind
flying straight through the mist of anguish
I elect to be nothing.

Satish Verma

16 October, 2008


The wind writes a name on the clouds
and sun wipes out the letters.
This game continues daily.
coming into life after every death.

Exhausted I want to believe
and make up my mind to go
for a new birth.

The resentment has accumulated
all the life
against the futility of winning a race.
In the end you reach no where.

A void impossible to fill.
The years monitored, lay waste
something to die.

Satish Verma

15 October, 2008


I woke up clutching the dreams
in deluge of tears.
Night had a brackish taste,
the other side of moon was dark.

One by one the stars were dying
ideas were no longer candles in gale.
The final thought of liberation demanded
a tribute to partners in revolt.

I wanted a sunlit corner
in the blighted sky of hopes.
Instead of scorched impulse of a mob
injured truth, walking alone.

Give me a bitter fruit of certainty.
I don’t want to loose myself in fogs.
The truth must meet the lie-
alone, in woods of craft.

Satish Verma

14 October, 2008


It was not worth it.
Building of castles on the dirty roads.
Offering spiritual coalition
of unscented certainties.

Admission of reversing the course of river
does not exonerate.
Mind polluted, face dripping with fantasies
clairvoyance, but confirming nothing.

Quasi-tales mingling with facts
take you to summer of hopes.
You are not here. I feel a cheap anonymity.
Charred body, clayey hands building a tomb.

Frond unfurling from the stump
gives a clue, without plea.
Rising from nothingness
to unending nothingness.

Satish Verma

13 October, 2008


I did not will them
dreams of crystals
a stupid calendar of flight
from insomnic past.

Do not want to return to future,
hub of my clouds.
History had been writhing and screaming.
Present cannot redeem my woes.

I ask my bleak, frosted branches
where the birds have gone?
The songs, green hills, divine particles?
When they will enter in frozen affairs?

Anti-matter is now colliding with black energy
I am faltering a rhythm.
helplessly watch a xenomorphic face
disappearing in the blue sky.

Satish Verma

12 October, 2008


The evening opens a wound,
a secret agony.
It neither heals nor gives solace.
The sacred whore who liberates herself
from the flesh.
Sun is pink and ashamed.

A crescent moon thought it was time
to step outside and find out the truth.
Night was willing to participate. She
wrote a message on the sky
as a survivor of a slaughter.

And now the paths of winds trace
a faded destiny of earth. It had
nothing to offer, till the god of hopes
comes in purple light and the jasmines,
open their dancing eyes.

Satish Verma

11 October, 2008


I tossed back the hot questions
before searching the answer.
Flaming torso of a limbless man
was seeking a place to rest his soul.

I inhale the death’s pungent odour
so opiating and so brutal.
Burning train chokes the windows
calmly, billowing the ebony smoke.

Cries mingled with whistling men,
haggarded infants were stupefied.
Grass was their pillow and stone
was the bed.

Courage was needed to write a poem
to fill the vast emptiness of a long night
without moon, when human torches
were throwing the light.

Satish Verma

10 October, 2008


I will make amends with me today,
stop fighting with myself.

Unthinkable to live without pain,
in war with suffering.

Quietly cries the flame without sound.
While night lingers on.

Nothing was easy for a quick resignation
of ephemeral tears.

Again love opens like a senile gash,
a chandelier suddenly crashing.

Going back to old city, blowing the limbs off
I will find my house.

Trying to search a clue to the colour of wound?
Catch my style.

I will remain in your thoughts for eternity.
Was not I your hoary past?

Satish Verma

09 October, 2008


Somewhere in between slumber and arousal
the twilight zone scoops a fistful of memories.
Atrophied limbs. Mottled skin. A cancerous face haunts.
Not afraid but I am anxious. Life has not yet ebbed away.
I scramble for sparks, my hands burn.
Very disquietening!
The severed bones in a heap.
They wanted to appease the goddess,
the gnomes were dancing in a circle.

The land, the country is breaking, sky is falling.
Run, run for cover.
I scream in a dream.
Are we disintegrating? Disappearing?
A black hole is calling?
The mega truth has been broken into myriad fragments,
We are now thinking in chips, holding our own mirror.
Show your mirror to your truth. Future is fogging the past.

Come hither my child of sorrow.
We are old tribe. We will keep our pledge
to maintain fidelity towards verses of sadness, evening, night,
stars and dust. The sparkles will die one day. Only the moon
will rise on the dead bodies. Where will you like to go?

Amongst the ruins, walking straight back to the treasure-trove
of ancient wisdom.
Wake up
Bells are chiming.

Satish Verma

08 October, 2008


For the sake of lake, I climbed
on the weeping hills
to see the other side of moon.
The precipice of hunger weighs heavily
on shoulders.

Capricious time moves inwardly,
Strikes at the chest.
I set free the love-birds.

Conflict of trees tramples the grass
All summer the smell of dry winds
was scorching tear drops.
Every word was crying.

Dark in my city
I am wandering alone in alleys
of hostile homes.
The collective guilt of the flesh
blazes the mind.

Satish Verma

07 October, 2008


A scented moon caves in
on a tree top
and solitude withers up in a seminal cloud,

It is good to be friendless sometimes.
Me and homecoming become synonymous.

We are ruined by familiar paths.
The mist deepens.
Not reaching anywhere.
I come out in dark to find the stars.
What will you do if the soul sneaks out of a body?

The wind starts a dirty dance.
A tall cedar scowls.
It starts raining,
fabulous as tears on an immaculate face.

Pull up the veil.
It separates the truth.
Do not filter the pain.
We may find a god.

Satish Verma

06 October, 2008


Walking on dead leaves covering the grass
to and fro, to and fro in solitude, hiding
behind the mask, pithy face, ideas rebounding,
a loaded eloquence, opening a diaglogue with self,
quietly bleeding inside. You are hearing
the sounds of winged carnivores who had been
devouring your brain cells. The time is ending,
death has no relevance, no respect for the survival,
insulting the existence, anguish overtaking
the joy of new born, lifted by a fog.
We are reciting the hymns now, lighting the lamps
to see the stains on the walls. The bronzed
sculpture refuses to come down from the pedestal,
afraid to go to a warehouse, to the lonliness.
A shadow moves away from the light, makes its own
length and buries in unconsolable sadness.
Pure eyes in which float the tears of million people.
Dying lips will always narrate a tale of abandonment,
will not be able to say adieu.

Satish Verma

05 October, 2008


Tonight a dark force enters my room
I will play with planets to decide
the course of my destiny.
A future has been tied to my past.

Such pain, strange exorcism, the evil spirit
stains the bed.
When I squeeze the eyes
fog deepens.
It hides the treasure of subtle creation.

Every thing is turning into black energy
I stop thinking.
A pretention of kindness, and monumental grace play
to stop the suicide after loss of
standing harvest.

The hope has been abducted
for a ransom of a child.
There is rape of a classical painting.

Corridors of power resound with promises
styles smashed, seeds thrown
randomly on the land of guilt.
We will wait for the showers to come.

Satish Verma

04 October, 2008


Going to shake my inner world.
Inconsolable is the loss
of faithful truth.

Echo of past comes between the knockings,
some one shoves a semblance of a riot,
death is not a ceremony any more.

Slowly, dark breast of night
will feed the moon.
Air will kiss the lips of fire
and loneliness will take over the heart.

Not sure of the pattern, and my existence
first I must look beyond the self
and find out the forbidden belief.
I think I don’t trust myself.

From the smouldering psyche
the muse always runs out
falling between vision and confusion.
Sweet ephemeral strife
always in toe.

Satish Verma

03 October, 2008


Give me some time
to live, with the possibility
of oscillating between temporal and spiritual feel.
I have already exhausted my age
behind the spiked doors.

I was longing
to meet myself today,
to find the throw back.
Which of me was real?
An antique bird feeding on honeydew?
Or a honed up desert hurricane?

A tremendous impact with retribution
pulls down the unbowed towers.
But the spirit screams in dark
and a light glows from the debris
true to seal the kisslock of death.

The century will still march forward
arranging the years in neat rows
at burial ground of memory.
The walls are still standing.

Satish Verma

02 October, 2008


No cure seems to work.
Between absurd and wise,
Lone he walks.

It is a note on the timidness
of a star, which couldn’t come near the earth.
On the slope of a crater, a boulder
stopped it.
No laughter seems to amuse him,
sullen and depressed,
lone he walks.

Genes take a giant leap,
he could not break the fall.
Brick by brick the fort crumbles,
a black halo fills the canvas.
Now carnations will not bloom,
and time will die with the clocks.
Lone he walks.

Duplicity was the word or tragedy,
Transparency got mutilated.
some of the sufferings could not come to the surface.
Both waves and boat collapsed,
Lone he walks.

Satish Verma

01 October, 2008


Why it should happen
the parting of ways?
Between the will to arrive
and the goal?

Between the unlearning and contempt,
lies a tale.

Terror. Petrifying fear ……….,
doggedly I was defending the door.
Inspite of the terrible blows
I wanted to be myself only.
Reverse, the wheels were turning
aghast I was turning blue.
God! They were creating him new.
As I remember now
they were melting the rocks to make a new face.
I have swallowed the flame, like pride.
melting the iron in eyes.

I shall soon become a tree
with unborn flowers.
Some sorrow, some tears
will drench my roots.

Satish Verma

30 September, 2008


Sometimes lurking in corner.
Sometimes tumbling down
and sometimes with frozen smile
immolating oneself
before an idol to be.

He danced imprisoned in a glass case
whole life.
Overcoming the pretentious inhibition
to stand naked in dimlights
of arguments.

He started a dialogue
about the disquietening habits
of killing each other with sharp tongues.
I said death and life are two suggestions
worth consideration. A clump disdain in between.

The birds are circling again in sky.
Someone is going to die.
Avians knew the travesty of existence.
Question of self praise
ultimately drowns
in melody of being.

Satish Verma

29 September, 2008


Word by word I was drinking
your fathomless pain,
not asking to shine
any prehistoric sin.

You are still flying straight as the crow flies
into timeless grief.

Why we have to suffer in the hands
of tiny barbs?
Who will outlive the wits of ancient insects?
The jungle is spreading far and wide.

With infinite patience
I have been watching the world go by
carrying the pulp of intelligence.

This knocks me down,
the betrayal of blue sky.
A black hole is widening
in the sniffling cosmos,
flooding the desires of flesh.

On dust I sit frightened.
Where are we heading?

Satish Verma

28 September, 2008


Let me navigate the resentment
in non-verbal manner, I go in myself,
dislocating the whole experience
of goodness for vulnerability

I was stung a hundred times
into playing a role not of mine
deceiving the life,
which was on the other side of self.

This encounter with hypocrisy in meditation
was very gratifying.
I begin trying a repetitive motion
of my hand to ward off evil,
and find a parallel home for a second thought.

At night I travel to galaxy of waste,
the perfect paradox of failure
where time clones a beautiful mistake
which will hop from man to man.

Satish Verma

27 September, 2008


Sometimes I imagine, I am free:
free to come out from a diagram,
to bring inside out.
Ultimately rescued from the ancestors,
and ready to face my unborn children.

An apparition sneaks in.
Transgender? Half human, half god?
There is no shadow, no existence,
but presence.

Life sometimes take a strange turn,
panic moves between the walls of home.
Black silk, red cloud, fish in the bowl.
I walk without feet, making dents in air.
wrapped up so long.

Satish Verma

26 September, 2008


Awareness becomes a burden,
with opposite thoughts in conflict,
Crawling like roaches on your skin.
Sage or beast it was same.

They run on the bricks in sun
or drift at night on unwrapped voices.
Every thread of a dialague
rakes up an old sickness.

The stammering tongue will never tell
the name of the priest,
who led you to the pond
and drowned your ethics and morals.
Who was the culprit?
your hood or your arrested silence?

The same thought comes again and again
in single file.
The past presents a missing link
Between no and yes.

Satish Verma

25 September, 2008


Integrity of door was challenged,
walls will not take the blame.
Tension increased between believing
and non-believing.

Did we listen to moaning of night?
There was a murder in broad day-light.
Eyes will not betray the whisking of corpse,
pallbearers were moving very fast.

I thought nothing will ever move now
not even the possessed mind.
The final page of book has been torn
and the story will never reach the end.

To become anything or something
is difficult these days.
Do we need to drink our own blood
to become great on paths of anonymity.

Satish Verma

24 September, 2008


I will ask you no more.
An answer settles the question.
Let myriad questions remain in air.
Thirst is larger than the river.

Silence! Ghosts are walking.
You can hear footfalls of time,
past is peeping from the windows.

Dyslexic kids are not able to decipher,
the code of gifts, the sweet tongue.
Powerless hands are tied behind the back
and neck is broken with precision.

The rape of fragrance,
petals are curling up to storm,
flying homeless in sky without speech,
ceaselessly searching instead–ness.

Half-burnt bodies for feast, roasted dreams
for taste.
But for fire, a single tear drop
frozen on the cheeks of mercy.

Satish Verma

23 September, 2008


You know I do not hope
any intermission,
between life and death.
My path goes nowhere.

A hiatus between the mirrors has questions.
From childhood I was always
floating between the meanings
of lessons unknown.
I longed for straight humilities.

Present redeems the past.
Each sound leaves an echo
and has-been becomes the shrine of peace.

ad infinitum I will wait
for the primitive blood
to reappear, the truth of
midnight sin.

Satish Verma

22 September, 2008


That intense pleasure at the height of negation
haunts me
from the sense of weightlessness.
In praise of complaints I sacrifice my anger.

Sanity demands an explanation
for the grieved flowers
who assembled for a wreath.

The window will not betray the sun.
Prodigal sunshine will come back
to face the arrest.

The prism breaks the charm
flings off the clouds of flirting winds
and removes the veils from the eyes.

Satish Verma

21 September, 2008


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

20 September, 2008

Isful ah-ness!

Winter has stopped indulging.
Brown body of summer
longs for the full lips of moon.
I become saddened
tracking time.

Desire is now a temple
outraged by sun
starts a dialogue with winds.

Grey hills kill the songs
and empty life again fills in
the cargo of memories.

Silence is cool, ticks like a clock
breaks a stone
and melts into night.

I prepare to die again
amidst the disguises of fidelities.

* A Phrase from Les Murray.

Satish Verma

19 September, 2008


Give me something to chew,
a savage numbness
is engulfing my brain.
Water level was rising
and the time of rented happiness
was over.

Pheromones were showing true likeness
in hate,
violence was brilliantly portrayed
and death was hideous.

Attachedment assumes a blast,
stares me in empty eyes,
hurling silence with invisible force.

Give me something to drink
like moonlight. It is very hot here.
I am walking downhill
to roll back the rock.

Satish Verma

18 September, 2008


I was watching a flight of swans
in a neat row over the horizon.

You were counting the pebbles on the beach.
Sun will shortly crease the clouds,
but first let us decide for our starving existence
how far is our home?

I cannot assemble the broken mirror,
the splinters have twisted images.
Somebody knocks out a tomb in sand,
and I wait for a giant wave to wash
out the traces.

The death offers the final peace.

Satish Verma

17 September, 2008


He was very thin, half naked, one arm
broken, glasses cracked.
Early morning an owlet will land over its head
And give a long hoot.

The bleary eyes will look down non-chalantly
on browsing goats at its feet. I will see a twinkle
in the eyes.

A cave man, or Buddha! I loved your brazenness
cat walking alone on the spiky path of truth,
drinking goat’s milk and raising cotyledons
of guiltless faith.

Post-traumatic, I squeeze your feet.
Any reincarnation in future? Any divine intervention?

Satish Verma

16 September, 2008


Eight kisses of death and I am alive
My chest is still bleeding
Come brother, come,
stitch my wounds.

Whom shall we believe, rebirth
or life after death?
Both are study of wasteland.
To speak through angels is difficult these
days and prayer has run
out its charm.
I want to swim with octopus
to test its suckered tentacles.
The envy of ocean cannot stop me.
Tonight the burning candle is going to live.

Satish Verma

15 September, 2008


They were counting the bullets and bodies.
The severed limbs were twitching. Sometimes to go back
to their owners,
but the faceless torso selects a bush to hide the remains.
The leaves are falling on the make shift home of death.

It is time to know
who will judge the color of oozing blood?
Red, brown or black? ?

In rapt attention I can see a carnivore
without carnality there is a beauty of kill
a splurge of energy and game.
No hate, no envy, no greed.
It is not violence! It is nature! !
What you are doing with a charred face?
Changing the features of earth?
A little bit here, a little bit there
My tears will tell the tale.

Satish Verma

14 September, 2008


When the sun dips on the horizon,
I will invite the yellow moon.

Time raises the mist,
profiles become grey,
vibrating in trance,
limbs colliding in way.
When the love’s violence escorts you to death
red eyes will melt and an avalanche
will drown the landmark.

We were kith and kin,
now strangers in motion of earth,
meet only speeding towards dark.
When the life will miss the sorrow
I will invite the yellow moon.

Satish Verma

13 September, 2008


I look at a slice of sky and weather
from the window of my sick room
tethered to the bed by depression.

Time has come. Somebody will lay me open.
Must I suffer with deep holes in buried mind
where tears have drenched the folds?
Everyday I burned my fingers in a
blast solely to test the truth, and for
reading the verse, rubbed my eyes with a

An imperfect wave struck at the legs,
wavered me for a minute and then washed away.
Sitting within tragedy rise a song, I
understand its fugitive moans, watch
the face, I am not a martyr but
an ubiquitous being.

Satish Verma

12 September, 2008


Why you think of reversing the wheels
when life has stopped moving?
The time has fled from your hands
and settled on the body of death.
You are not intact and whole inside.

Where the path betrayed us?
Broken windows let in the dirt, smut and
The winter will be harsh, barren and cold
One by one swallows have departed.

The pain in neck does not go
an astringent blast overpowers
you become giddy, stagger for a while
and then become blind.

Your tragedy is mine, we suffer
for the sake of light.

Satish Verma

11 September, 2008


They slaughtered the icon in captivity
as an act of mercy.
To know the secret of madness
why people were falling on knees?

Outside a small narrative will give
creased excuses. The spilled blood
always instigates to drink from the fountain head
of sweet revenge.

A promise has to be fulfilled.
Death has seen the door,
it will come again.

On this day the maniacs, bipolars and schizophreniacs
will celebrate the independence day
and show their trophies of dried skulls.

Now the time has come.
Everybody wants to commit suicide
to become a saint.

Satish Verma

10 September, 2008


Hired time felt that terminal import
was cloaked, and we were not ready
for the consolation.
Our conscience was giving a terrible blow
because world was not interested in knowing
why the man went outside of truth.

Who is deceiving whom? Closing the eye
while answering some question, you find
that shadows are not exiled.

Transparency of skull does not
betray the thoughts.
Clumsily you cover the swollen wounds
with a cap of innocence.
Eyes are searching for the snakes
I hold my rope and trap
It is flooding my ripe age!

Satish Verma

09 September, 2008


Inadequately the clouds covered the moon
the wind was soft and silky.
The death of shadow was not complete.
Stars had fled from groans of night.

In the still room poor sentences could not compete
with the innocence of emptiness
which was in throes of giving
birth to a new meaning.

Weeping flowers were weaving a song.
Memory, my pain, returns again and again
I would never go ever to my old house
just one for me, it gave me choking

The wanderer me, moves again, to switch
the lights on. You are not watching me.
I don’t put claim on my words. They
came to me from dangerous mistakes.

Satish Verma

08 September, 2008


You said it was a sin to trade for the hunger.
I was looking into your eyes,
something was amiss,
tears had become stones.
How long your breast was carrying
this despair?
You said it was a crime to hold the grief.

I was looking at the sky,
vultures have gone.
But pugmarks of hyenas are very distinct
around the house.
I am saving the chocolates for winter
kidnapping the heart.
You said it was an irony to sing
a heart-breaking song!

Satish Verma

07 September, 2008


When I started seeing you, needs were
accumulating. A great paradox.
The price is high for stoicism.
My inner life gets battering
Give me something to think of escape.

It was not a deliverance. I was learning
daily from the elixirs, a prudent toxin.
The other story is simple. It was the game of
enchanting annihilation.

Miracles sometimes suffer in the hands of
ordinary. The scales start tilting. No body
stops for you. Grief becomes your partner,
Silence in your bed.

The silence is ultimately the moment of
truth. Truth erases the lie and seals a
kiss of death.

Satish Verma

06 September, 2008


Reeling in faith, dread of truth overpowers
I loved the reason.
My legs were shaky when I was treading
on the barbs
getting ready for a leap in the unknown.

Somebody said myth was a whore.
It turns the men into sheep.
Tomorrow a person will become a chair
and belief will start a religion.

Superhuman entity is needed
to define the grief
It is not loss of tongue.

The woman takes to hauling
the virgin coal.
A green fire is to be kindled
to show the moon,
the pond is ready for the sacred bath.

* An important character in the Ramayana who was poisoned by Lord Rama only because he was reading the Vedas.

Satish Verma

05 September, 2008


Death was prowling
from funeral to funeral.
No shadow will be spared today.

I am not ready yet for the final curtain.
Bullets have left some clocks
ticking in the pockets of time.

I shall call the leader
who is hiding behind the scriptures.

Don’t choose the destiny.
Don’t commit the date.
Anguish itself will find the path.

What was wrong with the earth?
It has stopped moving,
the stars are drifting away.
Another explosion in the sun?

I don’t know.
This world is heavy with pain.
Rivers are flooded with blood and tears
and I am roaming in the jungle of lies.

Are you listening?

Satish Verma

04 September, 2008


Speaking of our troubled times,
Incenced, enraged,
the crowd seeks revenge.
Reason drowned,
Unthruths pitted against individual.

My heart bleeds, beneath this monstrosity,
point-blank you ask the question.
Give me a chance to recover
I am deeply perturbed today.

Mist is settling on hills.
Cannot see the world through the vision of sunless god,
and I am going to walk under a cloud.

Ruthlessly the dust moves on
covers the faces.
Normalcy is out of town.
People float like corpses.

Toothache hurts. Caries are very deep.
Pray that it stops. I cannot chew the words.

Satish Verma

03 September, 2008


I have put the darkness
behind the burning flesh.
This world was not very open.

Stoically I lift the nameless grief
and take a leap in the blind shaft.

Morality had always been in contrast
with enormous guilt.
The adventure of turbulent life
was in quest of scraped moments.

Tender roots come out
from fallen seeds.
Of untouched desires.
Moonstruck I will gather dust.

Was it not sufficient to live on,
when past and future were not my part?
And how forsaken
was the moon.

Probability was always certain
and worship of a new messiah
a distinct possibility.

Satish Verma

02 September, 2008


How it is that –
at shrine while saying prayers
sex was on your mind?
You hated the betrayal and emptiness of life.
but still tuned to sweet indulgence.

And then a sudden flash back
slaps in your face,
and you want to commit suicide.

Afraid of hurting your pride
I did’t fulfil my promise of wiping your tears
in a sprint of flinching ache.

It is night now
The words have a peculiar burnt-out smell
of the road,
as if they were smouldering
in hot ashes of peace.

Satish Verma

01 September, 2008


On your dark face
smile does not spread like a butterfly.
Most reticent I had been,
It was very difficult to give,
and very painful to take.
You wanted to be noticed,
and I had a tryst with uncharted path.

It was coming.
The separation!
Like an anal pain of cancer.
The essence was, usurped by a deathly kiss of cobra.
Your thoughts, body language were wrapped
in a tarnished blanket.
Let us start a parallel monologue
on different selves.

Do not count the wounds.
An anthropologist has become a messenger.
The history, the fossils, the caves are shouting,
we were cannibals.

No sound will trudge now,
on our empty streets.
No knocks will come on our doors.

Satish Verma

31 August, 2008


Cannot decode the signature of fear beneath the huge eyes,
serene and calm, darting right and left, like in stricken
animal at frenzy. Drift we must; will seldom cross the path.
Agony of existence, flying thighs, erect humps, sliding on sand
dunes. Even moon melts in our mouth.
You had kissed the frozen lips; of betrayed night.
The sudden gyration of hips, fading of stars,
and waning of nameless memory. Let’s go and
hide in blasts of whistling train. Pale wool of
knitted love cannot hold the heat. The waiting will
be over in minutes. Wheels will runover an epoch.
I would raise my head after ages in astonishment. I was still alive, cast
in a different mould. Dislocation became my integrity,
my fate, a frightened truth.
People were very short sighted, could not cross infinity.
Supreme was in them, discounting morality.

Satish Verma

30 August, 2008


A tremendous force moved them apart.
They started moving in opposite direction,
never to meet again.

Negativity of flight
took them to frightening heights.
Like the two peaks
temples apart.

First causality was grace.
Loaves of bread gave them carnal satisfaction.
But gravity was taking its toll,
like god moving from one body to another.

The lungs started drowning in rib case
gasping, panting. Father of all the mistakes
now promised to stop
the whole transparency. Life had become murkier.

Who is going to move the world
and resuscitate the renaissance
from our bones?

Satish Verma

29 August, 2008


In a temple without god,
They performed a cryptcastration on a colossus,
targeting a total annihilation,
and liquidation of a beautiful saga.
And then, layer by layer unspeakable pain was released.

Nobody looked at my red eyes.
Half dead, half alive, groaning, spurting, dumb, dishevelled.
I was shouting, running in the dark alley,
the legendary mountain has collapsed.
From the cocoons come out skeletons.
Not true, not true, they were crying in unison.

Archaeopteryx without apron looks scary,
Let’s move to a different showcase
see the birth of a Caesar. How it rises from
the womb of democracy? How the thaw comes in a glacier?

The eyes of a tyrant sometimes look gloomy.
Is it possible to start a bonfire of lover’s coat in the chair?
Cast off the milkteeth and start from void?
Stretching the boundaries of death and immortality?
I am terribly confused and burned out.

The astral bodies sometimes look so good to me,
faraway from this ugly world.
At least they shine in their own light.
But we were always busy counting our awards
of gold thread, earned by dark strategies,
to make other feel small and ashamed!

You were talking, of self inflicting injuries
was a way of life,
with some people to purify their souls.
But I was wondering about soulless people.
How much they were pollulted and blackened
inside their lungs?

Strange it appears to talk about spirituality
in a slum of poor thinkers
where we were living beyond death.

Satish Verma

28 August, 2008


Perhaps you know,
that you do not know,
the moment of truth is here,
and we are at the cross roads.

Night is without a cloud
and crescent moon is questioning a star.
Ghost of strayed peace
has slided back in dark.
Pure chemistry of love is boiling.

Planting the tender flowers on lips
I find nothing. I think I will go
for a new lover.
Strawberry was your choice,
but I always craved blue berries.
Pulpy red and blue black were teeth apart.

Your eyes are unreadable,
a watery grave of pain.
Something impossible should happen
Poetry is waiting for symbiosis.

Satish Verma

27 August, 2008

Dirty Mirrors

Life may mean anything to you, but
I refuse, to become a utility.
Come, let us face the death of time.

We were whisked away,
had taken a wrong turn,
and when battle lines were drawn,
the guns were not ready.

Dirty mirrors always complained of a bad weather.
Today I will go for a long journey,
to get the gifts of peacocks from green trees.
I want to listen to their grievances whole night.

Humanity stinks when infected hands
handle the peace. I splash the truth
on your face,
to see the sun clearly.

Satish Verma

26 August, 2008


Tell me how to tell you about a flat
robotic voice,
asking for euthanasia,
a rite of passage for ceremony of death.
He said, he preferred lethal injection
to noose. But it should be painless,
and there should be no leakage of pain
on face. Mercy it be.

This was not a stage show.
No mummer was performing.
Sitting in lotus position
inviting the inevitable. Be my destiny,
my end.

A terminal prayer of infant dream,
which could not find words,
worth any weakness.

Going separately on different routes,
meeting accidently at home
two things were quarreling with dark

Satish Verma

25 August, 2008

2007! SO WHAT! !

I watched in horror,
your pride was tilting.
The landscape was losing the freedom of anonymity.
The labels were rejecting,
the moods of winds,
and embarrassing the consensual sleep.

Where was the need of constructing the arches
on ugly roads,
when mob was indulging in incestuous manner?
Incognito moves the truth, crest fallen.

I had been on edge since long.
This human atrophy was appalling,
while I was searching a doomed culture,
in orchards of wits.

Two thousand seven, and still our angular limbs
cannot move the time.

Satish Verma

24 August, 2008


Looked naïve, but he was
elevating himself on the heap of lights
unlearning the human commitment.
Hunger was his weapon
to level the uprising of underprivileged.

This monarch of darkness
picks up the best,
insists on low profiles.
We were searching fossils
under the rocks
to decipher the shadows of history.

Between the glory of hardened footprints,
we found the labels.
Contents unknown but enough to browse.

They were weightless
and soaring high.
But I was not able to survive.

Satish Verma

23 August, 2008


It was a fascinating night
like albino children playing in park.
I was gazing at sky.

The years have gone by one by one.
I am still walking on dead leaves
refusing the fruits.
This was me, no urge, no need,
the leather worn out but
feet are intact.

A continous civil war among the windows
suffers the grace. Stupidities of house.

You collect the garbage whole life
and when time comes to depart,
make a bonfire of your winnings.
We are ageing like wall paper
and talking to doors. The guest
is coming at last.

Satish Verma

22 August, 2008


Beyond the gaze there is a time zone
of rumored agitation
when you cannot sleep.
You open your eyes quietly to complain.

The caretaker has prepared the shroud, .
Smoke is rising on the hills.
No body walks with you,
it is a lone journey, where
centuries throw the dust on your hallowed gifts.

The pyramid of signs, symbols, signatures,
disappear in penultimate flare.
Time to leave the waiting room.

The resurrection will take place now;
of fear; of despair; of foot steps in dark.
I will hear them, holding my breath.

Landscape will change into valley of tears.

Satish Verma

21 August, 2008


The panther goes for the neck only.
A body trembles on the stairs.
Scarred bones are strewn around in
the broad day light.

I sometimes hear a wailing sound.
Here lies the scarf, the coat, the shoes.
A nation is rambling in dark
woods. Faces have become stones.

No longer, the illustrious suffering will help.
How to judge the verdict?
Defence is proving the guilt,
and desert shouts a single
How many meanings should be thrown
for one answer?
The tears. Are they not sufficient
to give the depth of immensity?

Satish Verma

20 August, 2008

Non - ‘I’

I intend to move away from myself
as apologia for sadness,
Could not give up the zen,
powerless, breathless, drowning,
in my skin, my viens,
sharing the existence of undoing,
what was something.
Nobody I am, connecting to you
by flames of aristocracy of pain,
for eternal slavery.

Primitive memory hurts. Give me your tears.
The world is struck by salutation to sun
I am free to put a mask
and light the dead wood.

Satish Verma

19 August, 2008


Death will not wait.
Locked in bruises,
I want eternity.

Stinking pubes,
micro to zerogravity.
Kernel rises like a star.

Touch was not real
How far you will go?
Earth was collapsing.

My father was right,
Don’t climb to the peak,
snow was melting.

Love has no barriers
Winter steals in like a thief
one by one the knives are drawn.

Satish Verma

18 August, 2008


Becoming something from anything
was a great bliss of paradigm.
I take a dip in anonymity.

You will never know
where you start a rough patch
on the road?

A prehistoric site could not outlive
the humiliation of proximity to hate.
Violence chewed the dust.

My knees give way to anguish of morality:
horror of captivity of dawn.
The eyes are going to collapse in endless night.

Tapping of kernel in hard shell of truth bothers me,
like a mountain dew under the stone.
I will destroy the anxiety of grass.

Death of desire may take place
Fragrance still devastates the moon.

Satish Verma

17 August, 2008


I must accept the insignificance
and solve the puzzle of night.
Possessed sunlight always pursues
the shadows of words.

Philosophy of veils descends on awareness
casting silhoutte of differences.
Nocturnal sweat of sky
overwhelms the grass with dew.

I pick up the fallen stars on my eyelids.
A love affair of moon smarts in wind.
Right now I want peace with myself.

Summons of death will arrive,
when you would have finished your innings,
and start dressing up to welcome
the beautiful sunset.

Satish Verma

16 August, 2008


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

15 August, 2008


Space has all the silent approval,
truth will not multiply.

Another funeral takes place
in the barren field of lies.
Fire burns the life’s hopes,
while town mourns the death.
Sunshine bakes the eyes
but truth will not multiply.

Desireless peak of thoughts
sets out the smoke,
towards our homes,
trampling the shame, guilt and hurts.
We were still indulging in useless talk
but truth will not multiply.

Virtue has a unique impulse
a drone in the ears.
Fog was waiting for the sky.
The planet empties a bucket of sorrow.
I will favour the faceless name,
but truth will not multiply.

Satish Verma

14 August, 2008


My thoughts halt at your lips
beyond lies your silence
to start a voyage in snowy dialogues
to find a meaning of futile life
and trash of the myths.

Our entwined life has chosen
consolation of past,
We are still alive
kicking and reveling.

A shadow imitates the God
meditates under the unyielding tree.
The fugitive may find some greatness
in insult.
The vastness of loneliness
ultimately takes over.

Satish Verma

13 August, 2008


Anxiety was touching the mime
I cannot hold a reality.
We were playing with each other.

The creation and hunger of living
takes you to unknown fields
I am, what I am not.

Always bluffing, puffing on the road,
counting the milestones
in reverse osmosis,
feeling proud of mighty mistakes,
talking to faltered ego,
going against the sun.

My climate merges with hot desert
A story reappears again and again
like a dried skeleton in sands.

How long I will run
chased by planetary fears?
Barbs pierce the tender zones
I see my own demise,
body floating like a flower on lake.

Satish Verma

12 August, 2008

Ancestral Present

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

11 August, 2008


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

10 August, 2008

Mask unmasked

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 will turn into obsolete gossip.
A patch of sunlight becomes a costly exposure
bones are entwined in eternal cuddle.

Satish Verma

09 August, 2008

A Rebel Being Born

I do not want to become
plaintiff or defendant.
Untethered, I will punish myself
for metaphysical nuances.

Sometimes a silence talks to grieving sky
about a fake truth.
The tears will never stop now.

Give me my freedom to cry,
to exhume the body of justice
and bury my future in memories

I do not sell the dreams.
Eyes tell it all.
History repeats itself
when message dies on legs!

Satish Verma

08 August, 2008

First Step of Creativity

When insects were crawling
dreams had contradictions,
a sudden dropp in temperature
brought the quantum touch.

Ending of the grief
or grief of ending
rejected every intact truth
and death was trailing behind the candle.

Fear and agony were following
the footfalls of night
Blindness was weaving a broken moon.
The time will not be answerable for any plight.

Corners of childhood brighten up
for sweet nothings
I adore the fallen god,
he was inhaling the earth.

Satish Verma

07 August, 2008

Encircled GLOOM

Was it a spriritual 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

06 August, 2008

A Sunny Wait...

Young days start with a nostalgia
for a lost freedom
Anxiety was the prime suspect.

As the age moves on,
truth consumes the virtue.
I hold this insult
in the throes of conscience with tears.

The dreams did not last long
in the wild eyes of geniuses.
Grace and dignity fell short of sinners.
The prince of blackness strode
on the white souls.

I could not have been a witness
of paradox.
Lacked in the old books
I still wait on the highway
for a sun to climb the hill.

Satish Verma

05 August, 2008


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

04 August, 2008

Guiled ‘me’...

That is how I injured myself
desiring the right thing,
extracting the reason from charity.
I will now pluck off the rage, the silence,
the exotica from the frozen valley.
Words will become my foes swimming in your eyes.

I was listening to your questions
without becoming a witness; I was my own answer.
The time was revengeful. Show was over.
We were losing the relevance
and guests had departed.
We were becoming the walls of a glass house.

I dread my conscience, a terrible roaring in mind.
Does not allow me to sleep. Values were insulting me.
Falling like an old wall-paper; truth went unnoticed.
Peacocks were dying daily.
I am going to lose myself in the night
of a moonless sky.

Satish Verma

03 August, 2008

The Moon-ed ‘I’...

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

02 August, 2008


What was that inside you
which was not ready to accept
the compound folly of a man?

What worry do I carry tonight
to my bed?
An intentional leap into the very
fire of mind?

A virgin garden battles with a storm
It is ready to mince the words
for a carnal smell of poinsettia,
and I am going to lower the guard
from wrinkled eyes.

Like a thong around the neck
to obtain the tongue.
I turn towards the blood of game
global erosion of love and waxen defeat!

Satish Verma