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