30 April, 2009


Entering into hypersonic gridlock
you become one of the crowd;
remain devastated, slip into unconciousness,

defer to a calibrated emblem and speak
untainted. The debris was taking to the
street. The trees were drinking from

geyser basins, mutated restraint. The crow
was taking a bath in milk, to show that
it has no venom. Or rather no controversy

for a tedium death. That is the stripping of
ambition, till the light arrives. Darkness
will reap the grains of sorrow. The fire

digs out the secret bones. You cannot stop
the whipping of skulls which were without thoughts,
when silence was bidding for lips.

Satish Verma


Entering into hypersonic gridlock
you become one of the crowd;
remain devastated, slip into unconciousness,

defer to a calibrated emblem and speak
untainted. The debris was taking to the
street. The trees were drinking from

geyser basins, mutated restraint. The crow
was taking a bath in milk, to show that
it has no venom. Or rather no controversy

for a tedium death. That is the stripping of
ambition, till the light arrives. Darkness
will reap the grains of sorrow. The fire

digs out the secret bones. You cannot stop
the whipping of skulls which were without thoughts,
when silence was bidding for lips.

Satish Verma

29 April, 2009


Time zone had become acidic.
Wear the chador softly.
Moon is coming out.

Down rushing
stillness croons.
Someone is going to outwit the night.

A night bird weighs the wind.
Why do you stand alone?
Desires will come relentlessly.

The essence of pain.
My bronze heart,
has no prodigious injury.

Satish Verma

28 April, 2009


Rhetoric had a theme
like crab-grass to destroy the lawn.
Fly ash had submerged the legacy of sane lips.
The river drifts between the broken walls
of binge soaring. Tension was descending
in the lanterns who were flickering hopelessly.
Was there any need of autopsy of dark secrets?

The terror burns the bed. You don’t get a wink
of sleep. Between bubble and sky, wrapped up
afterlife aches. You wear the blindness, then slide
in grey fog. The hypocrisy and violence will wolk
side by side.

Do not touch the leftovers. A vulgarity
of expansion! Step aside from the continuum.
I will wait for you.

Satish Verma

27 April, 2009


One unthinkably hostile debate
started in a colosseum:
a path to kill the clemency.
A comatose truth was listening to lies.

They were pointingly arguing about
the nukes option to bring about the peace
and prosperity on the strife torn earth.
Total anihilation will initiate a new world.

Troubled times; the failure of sacramental thread
to tie the god. The king presides over
the sweaty palms which failed the swords.
Deprivation will breed the contempt for theater.

Horses were ready to disobey the order.
Shoes were thrown on altar.
The eyes were everywhere in the wounds, stained
with guilt, never to celebrate the victory.

Satish Verma

26 April, 2009


Too beholden to water of life.
It hurts deliberately when you were thirsty.

You break the bread in reflective mood.
Who will climb the cross today?

The sheen was wearing off the smug faces
Civil war was starting again.

The declinist god was weeping soundlessly.
Someone shot the flamingoes in flight.

Militias have started the bloodletting.
Painfully I was collecting the sounds.

A new world begins on broken plasma.
Electrons have shifted their orbits.

A dog sniffs a freshly dug mound of earth.
Instead of a body a wreath was found.

Satish Verma

25 April, 2009


Focused on burgundy palms
as the age blinks,
you start distressing on a unipolar
pinnacle, biting the nails.
The road absorbs the horizon.

Perched on a controversial tree
the birds break into small events
to reach the grass roots. A transparent question
always chases you about the consequence
of a war with troubled priests.

Do we need nitrous oxide to offset the gloom
of hovering religion? One enchanted
crowd spills in copycats to bring about
a revolution in ranks who were busy
in translating the epics of past.

Satish Verma

24 April, 2009


The hard core cult was fixing
the flies on the podium.
A snapdragon becomes a cannibal
devouring its own seeds.

Beyond insanity lies the phantom zone
where you hang upside down your faith.

A lunatic threatens to jump
from high tomb –
after excavating the remains of
a forbidden fear.

There was nothing except the
worn rags of a fakir.

Satish Verma

23 April, 2009


Standing on a sandisland
I was looking at the landscape
of the aura of a lobbied avatar.
The chill was spreading on the river unfazed.

The sassafras had a logistics network
to penetrate in the oysters, becoming
grayish white pearls of wisdom.
It will protect you from any insult.

When the temple of learning was
being rebuilt, the words were finding
an echo in sky’s fear of abduction.
The sun was hiding behind the lies.

In a trance I move unmindful
of interbreeding. Some grizzly thoughts
were near the cave of skeletons. The
panther was readying to jump out.

Satish Verma

22 April, 2009


The lake was drying up
touching raw nerves.
Epicenter of violence was standing
on gun powder-

nursing charity groups
which were spewing hot lava.
This war was different, wearing masks
played by gloved hands.

The face in the crowd
was twisting the knobs of nuclear doors.
A tender haze over the winter
of relationship. The stones were smiling.

The dance of the road, I am the lone
survivor of genocide to witness
the romance of death, the nameless

Can you negate this matrix? This fall
of becoming? I smear the ashes
on forehead of history and squander
my poems.

Satish Verma

21 April, 2009


Liquidity crunch turns you
into lip slave.
The candlelight bed has the broken legs.
Asleep by the boat you sway in dark.
You are still a number in the books to be fed.
A jigsaw puzzle in the economic boom
starts a jihad. Here I am waiting for you
to start a crusade against the falling stars.
The encounter turns bloody. Shoot out for innocents.
Kids and women, criss-crossing the path of hate.
I was not ready for this disgrace of religion.
The king was making it free below poverty line.
Every wound will be addressed and healed.

Satish Verma

20 April, 2009


The body was arched in a denial mode
on the rose bed, unsettling human emotion
in the train of lots. A broken chain
of thoughts outranking the holiness of crime.
I am not getting the signals of fire, sparks
or flames. Only smoke on the mirror. It was
becoming a murder, discarding the clay, terracotta,
color in Indian summer. A sensuous dance
begins, on the mobiles. The portfolio contains the
numbers of streets for total annihilation so
the visual footprints will disappear. The mathematical
progress of genes halts. Million fingers will
write history of wailing waves, frightened
of hot winds.

Satish Verma

19 April, 2009


In a school of murder a hub of
terror survives.
An acid attack on face
captures the contradictions of first nervous countdown.

Step aside my truth, my tears
are under siege. The schizophrenic
will draw a landscape
of falling earth.

Tonight a visual poem will come alive
on a dirty screen of life.
Words were written like mercy
on the hands.

Why the face wears no smile?
Hard core pornography of blueberries survives
amidst the shooting and explosions.
The nymphs were waiting in the heaven!

Satish Verma

18 April, 2009


Hollyhocks will not let me go;
hold my hands.
Shying away
they were turning to ashes.

In the night, wisteria
emanates a hungry cry.
Though wind had announced
sun has not kept the promise.

I gasp for the body silver
like ancient lust,
pure and paranoid –
asking for the head of a spider.

This non-violent resistance
seeks more space to pasteurize
the beautiful milk in gold containers.
A passion flower was going to melt.

Satish Verma

17 April, 2009


A toxic tongue laps the ocean
and fish goes to sleep at bottom.
I do not know from where to start.
A distraught candle flickers.
The blast victim was pregnant and
the foetal head got severed off in womb.

There were big holes in intelligence.
Raw fledgling. The evil existed
in every room. I was not able
to open a single door.

Because they were blind,
taking roots in soil of ancestral graves
on the name of god,
throwing blue stars
in the eyes of believers.

Satish Verma

16 April, 2009


Washed by tears, the flame kindled again.
Crimson magma was quick to engulf
the drops on forehead. Fired from close range
the bullets opened the bloodgates in quick succession.
It should not have happened!
Therefore the journey resumes outside the good
or the evil. The rdx bombs are found at
your doorsteps and you watch helplessly the
murder on dining table.
Are you safe in linens of truth? The lip
gloss of diplomacy will work? The sea
was turbulent and a hijacked trawler was left
on waves with the shot body of captain.
Your hands are trembling on the knobs without
doors. Through the death I perceive a
child crying in the arms of a sobbing galaxy.
There were needles on the road and our
soles were bleeding.

Satish Verma

15 April, 2009


When we slept through our
naked loops, there was a silent call.
Moon was out walking on the street
peeping through the glass window,
the crossed legs.
Trees were meshed up in dark. Do you
know the impropriety of leaves, climbing
on each other? Dogs inbreeding? Incestuous in camera.
The elixir of life. Recycled urine. We
were not crying. It was the urgency
to die to challenge the infinity.
We get paralysed. Our legs will not
move on fallen skulls. Blood was everywhere.
The terrorists on terrace, negotiating for a massive
ransom. This interwar was wholesome. The
hysterical confusion breaks us apart
and morgue was full of kissing gods.

Satish Verma

14 April, 2009


The wound peeks out
from the round eyes. No lashes,
brows. Singed face betrays the scars
of last century.
He was fighting with his fists only.

Iced lids throwing the flames;
god knows what was the pain of memories?
He did not reverse the wheels of woes;
did not bring back the stream
lost in the volcanic rocks.

Playing truant from black death
a frail hope kindles the small fish
to swim against the current,
ruts of repetitions and bores of endless
barrels shooting roadmaps.

Satish Verma

13 April, 2009


Entering into deathless trance
the moon was galloping across the clouds,
clad in blue winds,
for a spiritual encounter with the sky.

A saint in making,
a grandson of god,
retreats in a religious retreat
to taste a forbidden pain of separation,
without surface love.

In a see-through transparency
the arrogance juts out
parting the tall grass of the assault course.
The prophetic self-absorption will decide the destiny.

The segregation of caste had ultimately
blossomed. Matter is generating energy.
Cosmos of a single dewdropp reflects in sun
The dry loaves are thrown on the street.

Satish Verma

12 April, 2009


Who will deliver the blow
to hissing winds of red hot skin
when burning desert hits the green trees?

Life flows through fire in the shadows
of cloudy peaks. I resume living
in the bodies of other people,

I am not myself. And change must
come in the garb of numbers,
in the mode of nothingness,

like the horns locked in the middle
of the road, raising dust and hoofs
two bulls fighting in the ruins of widespread

culture of politics. Only slogans give
the clue to black power of flesh. A
dispute does not settle for the last rites.

Neither burial nor a funeral will take place.
Only bones will give rise to a flower bed
where ashes will read the history.

Satish Verma

11 April, 2009


A severed hand on my shoulder
wrenches it off.
You sit on a toadstool
to measure the depth of grass.

A raven scans the earth:
nothing was left to eat.
The hungry urchins had
already punctured the garbage can.

A live show of committing suicide
will take place tonight.
To become silent in roaring noises
was the outcome of a dive.

A terrorist in pilgrim’s pouch walks past
a bomb. The wires reach in the schism
of a faith. Again you cry in your skin
for sake of a forgotten god.

Satish Verma

10 April, 2009


The stem cells coaxed to become
a kidney or a trachea failed to
ask the Himalayas, why were not,
they gathering the ice for glaciers!
Some sexual jealousy?

The naked darkness will nurse
the roses to rest on the barrel
of a gun. Civil war will start any day.

Colored man, the tattoos will not
tell the truth of the body. Blood
was always crying to give up
the fight. Why half-brothers were
destroying each other?

No squirrel will climb on the trees.
Nuts have gone. The winds have dispersed
sine die. A prayer is rising from the lips of earth.

Satish Verma

09 April, 2009


A tribal fear
was lurking,
behind a surge of emotion.
The sun was looking black.

A sexual abuse
of a quaint flower
aborts the fruit.
This year we will go hungry.

A nascent seed
stripped on road-
cries for water.
We hear without listening.

Death by a grave
was a domestic claim.
But you were found dead in a bunker.

Life vows to stand alone
on the burning deck-
of a turbulent ship.
The ocean will find a bloody hand one day.

Satish Verma

08 April, 2009


One’s existence was threatened
by the overseeing iguana like crested disguise.
Repressive, explosive eyes. You
are trapped in words beneath bewitching
smile. The ‘V’ sign for violence
becomes more obvious. That hits
you in face.

The eastern wind is blowing. Cold and chilly.
An odyssey of massacre and blood bath.
The mayhem of democratic jam. Fingers
crossed, we wait for a miracle to happen.
Someone turns back the tide and sharp knives
are taken out from the flesh. A diminutive man
wears giant shoes, prepares for a long jump.

Donor of the egg was unknown
surrogate mother was on price.

Satish Verma

07 April, 2009


Wide awake,
the double helix splits.
Chasing the debris of refusal to die.
The new genes choose to mutate,
fencing the child who wanted to become
only brain. No flesh, no bones.

Will he survive on this date?
In the tortured ravines of hate and someone
will not hang him from the tall branches of yew?
The train was burning on the track,
bridge collapsed in the valley of gloom
and snow bound peaks were splattered red.

The young shadows are afraid to return
to play. The fibrosis will not allow the fingers
to move, to pick up the tulips, waiting for the
first time, to be harvested. The gardner is
dead under the dew. It was
cloudy again.

Satish Verma

06 April, 2009


A brown cloud descends
on charcoal sketch.
Moonstruck, a blast begins.

Marigold, beware:
sun is going to hide
behind the stings.

The fang penetrates deep,
in the breast
of sleeping pride.

A golden god
melts in the arms
of mercy.

The lips suck the blue poison
of the hymns.
The saint was a killer.

I am a ravaged path
who wants nothing
from the feet!

Satish Verma

05 April, 2009


That awkward moment
when you stammer,
truth spurts out:
how not to offer a straight reply.

Your green eyes
tell me the pain
of last century.
Of armistice, of amputated legs
and then you don’t know what to do with your existence.

Darkened trees spit the starlight.
I will wait for the maddening crowd
to take the dip in the holy lake,
to wash out their sins
under the full moon.

Satish Verma

04 April, 2009


They brought back saddle
without the warrior.
Wrinkled eyes of a broken mother
frozen with tears, pick up the pieces of carpet
woven with blood.

Lotuses are disappearing
from the serene lake; migrated to seeds.
There are no visitors.

Who was losing the battle?
Have not you heard about militancy
and mutilated god? We gave him
our sons and daughters, still he was hungry.

The mankind celebrates the decline,
mourning hills,
dances with the bones of ancestors.

Satish Verma

03 April, 2009


Surge of rage in domes of violence
skins the history, becomes a frozen embryo
of genetic markers, shimmers in society,
race and native shirts.

Enters into the creation of a saga
accomplished by advancing poppies;
there was no connection to ancestors.

Brutalizing golden dawn
leaves a bitter taste.
They were fighting with broken swords.

Virgin flesh becomes moon face,
bloats for a fatal jump,
on to the widow’s peak
of a dancing star at sun-set point.

The innocence cleaves the night
to implant the bride’s lips.
I am lost in a sheared landscape
there is no singing tree.

Satish Verma

02 April, 2009


Sitting on the heap of mortals,
an angel failed. The world
was not going to change. The kill
had inspired only a naked aggression.

Not blindfolded he took the bullet
in heart to become a holy martyr.
The pretention caused no ripples.
River flowed without blood.

A rotten tooth rolls out.
Another smile spreads. Many headed
cobra strikes again. The ooze tosses out
from the broken skin. I pray for the death.

The veil lifts. The bone of ruined
Conscience juts out. A terrible reminder of crusade seeps in.
What do we want from the gods of masses,
while the time does not want to look back?

Satish Verma

01 April, 2009


Got struck on the spiky gate
a half-eaten deer
shattering the panther.

Daggers were drawn.
Terrier was in the glass house.
Canine discretion to draw the blood
between friends.

A crisp murder of a terrorist.
spotted face of the relentless moon
sending flames to jasmines.

The little skulls popping up
amongst rumors.
I scream in a celestial leap.

I could walk in ruins
of incarnations
preaching for death.

Satish Verma