29 December, 2010


The native walls 
were hounding me- 

out of game. 
I was playing chess with god. 

Was stoned to death. 
A small boy’s arm 

was crushed. 
He stole a bread. 

What was the truism 
of unheard voices? 

Groping in green darkness 
I was watching 

the lethal plunge of man.

Satish Verma

18 December, 2010


Be my soul in outrageous 
sunshine of knowledge. 
I need a shade of tears. 

The barrels were still smoking 
after the war. 
I will not wake up in morning. 

Lightless the day will mourn 
for the fallen moon 
on the breast of a hill. 

Tear down the curtain. 
Let me sea the face of death. 
I have a long debt to pay.

Satish Verma

16 December, 2010


A bucketful of moon 
falls on my door 
with the smell of a salted night 
on frozen shoulders of a punctured landscape. 

I start expanding 
unseeing a sentimental lake. 
Life was asking a very high price 
for the purple bruises. 

Why do you land on the sea of names? 
Only one face sinks in the spill 
of words. Would you put the green 
rain in my glass of absinthe?

Satish Verma

14 December, 2010


I hate the self-immolation 
of orange sex. 
Weather was leaving 
blue strings on the skin. 

Redemption was incomplete 
by sharing the legs 
Lips will not knead 
the ears. 

Like wakng in darkness 
for a passage to grief. 
Black moon will step aside 
for a flame at the end of tunnel.

Satish Verma

10 December, 2010


in your memories. 
an orange smoke. 

a mirror, 
a lake 

Days are smaller now 
the night 
I will count the candles 

Of your birthday. 
A haunted landscape 
scoops a wedding 
of a flame with a gale

Satish Verma

07 December, 2010


A green smoke was rising 
to ferret out 
the elusive pain 
without body. 

I went in search of 
fidgety words 
to patch up the conflicts 
of flesh. 

Bold as Passiflora, 
Crucifixion was complete. 
Today a gift of obeyance 
will arrive. 

It was a fake. 
The eyes on the hump. 
Camel has to cross 
a steep desert.

Satish Verma

05 December, 2010


You shall read me 
when I am gone 
in green pain. 

There had been gifts 
Unwrap them in dark – 

when moon was 
The beams will rub your body. 

A bared stasis 
will stop the fluids. 
Wash your face with tears. 

It seems a long time 
when I touched your eyes. 
My clouds would not find you.

Satish Verma

04 December, 2010


And that did it. 
Many voices in a mayhem 
lost the face of lightening. 

The starlight woke in rain 
untainted by dust of beds 
encased in wilful folds. 

The tremors will not stop 
the knocking of speech, after 
an intimate kiss of the void. 

Talking of lonely peaks, 
whom I will not touch them in morning. 
Let the night take its revenge.

Satish Verma

26 November, 2010


Sky wept 
when you hanged the young truth 
from a tree. 

A shadow falls 
on the hill 
for a savior. 

A winged flaw 
becomes a legend 
for the sake of a sword. 

A nameless letter 
betrays the will of a cage 
to set the bird free. 

My forehead marks 
the wrinkles of ancestors 
who would not give a name.

Satish Verma

21 November, 2010


It was a thorn in flesh 
before our fires met in midstream, 
the waterplant had become untouchable. 

I saw you lying 
behind a thin veil, 
like a prophet, in timeless agony. 

The moon had left a wreath 
for a failed worrior, 
who could not move into the tunnel. 

Entering the childhood again 
to reap the sorrow 
of a dry fountain. 

Ah, in the eternal withdrawl 
I come face to face 
with my dying earth.

Satish Verma

20 November, 2010


Want to shed the knowledge 
far from the strings 
and becoming myself again. 

Can you catch the time 
slipped from your hands 
when you were chasing the tiger? 

Phrases were still burning 
like white phosphorus 
on my forehead. 

Where do I take 
the burden of centuries wasted 
in unnatural drums? 

It was inside you, the violence 
of world, yet you want to survive 
without scars.

Satish Verma

17 November, 2010


It crashed like a chandelier 
my dream. 
Becoming wet, into unhealing existence. 
I was expecting a landfall 
by burst of flames. 

Grieving for a lost generation, 
a meaningless exit from the stage 
of bites and suffering. 
Can you reverse this idea 
of rebirth in the land of nobodies? 

That prison inside will not release 
the doves and I was expanding 
in the vaulted dome of violence 
to discover the wait of a happening 
to arriv

Satish Verma

16 November, 2010


It spurs the hope 
in absent voice for a deaf ear. 
You will wash the ancestor’s prism 
for a natural death of a fault. 

Through me I skim the frozen 
lake of tears. 

Maybe I will watch the tree 
for some sanity to produce 
the blossoms - 

in the starved faith of a 
wanderer who will not speak 
for himself. 

All life he was trying to explain 
without words, 
the enormous efforts he was 
putting to lay down his hands 
on truth.

Satish Verma

13 November, 2010


Shot in the face an insider 
tells the story of withdrawl 
of the vision thing. 

Crooked hands lift the 
frozen lake to drimk 
the elixir of death. 

Lonely home inspires 
the dark bird to land 
on the window of mountain walls. 

Should have left this day 
untouched by lips. 
I am counting the bridges. 

Age will tell the bones 
to bend like strings 
for a velvety song.

Satish Verma

10 November, 2010


It was a clouded heart. 
I was fidgeting with fate and 
there was no otherway, no way. 
I did not want to keep him waiting either, but 
I must be ready to receive the guest. 

Thief of pain was coming in the blizzard 
for a murky deal. I refuse to fall apart. 
The epitaph was incomplete and Emperor 
was demanding his due of golden sleep. Was it 
the worth of a new born. Sky was overcast. 

Taking the thought to its fossil home. Stings were 
sharp and the next stop was ocean. Water 
of funeral way. Still the sweet lips would 
haunt for the honey. Gone, the wax palace 
was gone, no body was going to light it.

Satish Verma

08 November, 2010


Were you a price victim 
of an unknown? 
You step out in darkness after 
a family fued to walk barefoot 
on bonsai of miffed arguments. 

You do not know the barbs, 
the hidden hate of centuries, 
and yet you must finish the voyage 
to truth, the song of eternity. 

Upon these wounds lies the blue 
eye of a soul, as pure as the Himalayan 
ice, the abode of a quivering god, 
not the terror, not the war, not 
the imprudence of make-believes.

Satish Verma

04 November, 2010


Discarded, on a heap of broken 
ceramics, a rotten tooth wants an 
award, for biting the snake. 
Who was pulling the strings? 

The temper of a black moon 
beguiles the sun. The green-pathway 
was hidden under the rock. 
Who was holding the baby? 

I am again bewitched by my own 
failures. Searching my legs under 
the bush, my wodden self cries. 
Who was asking the question?

Satish Verma

01 November, 2010


The space shrinks 
when moon breaks the black night. 
An aching flotilla does not 
reach home. The wait ends 
in your poems. 

Clutching at floating truths 
you help to save the words 
of predicament. Ultimately 
a temple walks free 
without a god. 

The whiteness of false teeth 
has a regular visitor 
of a bright smile. 
But the tender eyes were telling 
a different story.

Satish Verma

31 October, 2010


Drowning in my blood 
the vampire had 
the lapse of consciousness. 
I embraced the night 
without moon. 

Why does it happen 
day in and day out? 
You allowed the blood sucking 
which was the choice for unanswering 
of unpleasent questions. 

I survive in death 
staining the shirt, 
keeping the footsteps waiting. 
I had kissed a light 
falling on the squirming dark.

Satish Verma

30 October, 2010


A plug dismantles a temper 
unveils a pink bullet-hole 
on the fore-head. 

A butterfly flutters and then 
sits on the lips, offers an apology 
for the smile. 

The water blooms in eyes 
cascading to chest 
for measuring the mounts. 

Who mimics the fever 
of a volcano, throwing burning 
ash in the eyes of a sun?

Satish Verma

28 October, 2010


A stammer bites the tongue 
of hundreds of years. 
Beyond the page lies the blood. 
An outrage of a metaphor, 
a blast in a bowl, 
words are getting mutilated. 
An unquiet love draws the river 
to drown the sacrifices of parched land. 
Sands will bring out the beautiful 
property of a trademark. 

There is no shadow between the cannons 
My feet are not touching the peels.

Satish Verma

26 October, 2010


The beams were ready to collide 
on the bars of hate. The blast 
was coming with adjectives. 
It was immortality of a street which 
was going to survive. 

New herons will come to wade 
in troubled waters. Pure white. But the 
fish had left the shore and gone to hills. 
The long necked birds will find the flaming 
love of sands. 

The stardust was singing, anointed by 
sandal paste to count the uncollected 
flowers of war which were thrown on 
the returning soldiers after the defeat. 
There is the news of repealing the pact.

Satish Verma

24 October, 2010


He climbs on his being, 
like a lizard; 

Sometimes after, 
in a shock 
falls back. 

Runs away 
leaving behind 
a trembling trail.

Satish Verma

21 October, 2010


It was a rape of a city. Go ahead. 
I still speak the old phrases 
with back pain. 

And let fly the silence 
in beautiful emptiness 
of a swollen heart. 

On pain of anonymity 
I wanted to clear my name 
from tangled fame. 

The after death comfort 
of words when clarity 
moves in the home of a meaning.

Satish Verma

14 October, 2010


In tottering penetration 
of blue summer 
you become 
silent game. 

I accept my defeat 
from stones 
falling on 

Carbon fear of rosewood 
was rising 
to reintegrate 
illicit love of twilight. 

Testing the waters, before 
a swim in prophecies 
I ask the bank 
to hold the seasoned waves.

Satish Verma

11 October, 2010


I unwrite a song 
for she, 
a gratis homage. 

Questioning imperils 
the sky, 
clouds would not weep. 

A cover-up comes to quote 
the meaning of deployment. 

Was I feeling smug after 
the pages of unread death?

Satish Verma

09 October, 2010


With fractured hands 
I lit a pyre 
of small nudes 
with pink globes. 
A moon bleaches me white in a long night. 

A reprieve was needed 
from the scorching sun 
opening a jinx 
of a metaphor. 
The poems will take care of the burning home. 

Of deaths and forecasts 
I would like to see the 
ending of descent 
from the mount of pain 
The ice will tremble in the smoke.

Satish Verma

06 October, 2010


my poems make me sad. 

You reflect the times 
my body leaves the wound marks on sand. 

Again I had gone to my tattered home 
to sleep under the moon. 

There was only a small window. 
I would look at the stars whole night – 

to conceive and jump into a lake 
of synthetic fathers and hired wombs. 

The grieving faith now holds you responsible. 
O god, in reverse order, become a man.

Satish Verma

01 October, 2010


Battle remains between 
white and black, 
a synthetic truth 
and a bald faced hornet. 

Aching violence was spreading 
on moon. I was tossing around 
the stars placing the apostrophe 
in the end. 

There was a conflict in pain 
and the pill. It was a prelude to the 
carrier of a gun. Father was degenerating 
in his son’s boots. 

The social split was widening 
in the gulf of posterity. You dress 
as a bride to receive the punishment 
from the hands of arrogance.

Satish Verma

29 September, 2010


A unique, irreverent intruder: 
in my dying dreams, 
of a domain beyond the gifts. 
The corridor was full of 
specters in boiling air. 
The DNA will not cover the naked strands 
of desires. 

Put out to sea, my boat 
in cloud cluster, I will meet 
the eye of cyclone in its full furry. 
The tempest was the moment of truth 
to know the self. One night I will 
become a palm tree wearing the 
mask of history.

Satish Verma

23 September, 2010


The chemistry of hate 
changes in a thorn’s shade. 
I start digging out the past 
for a blind sun, 
for a qualified rejection. 

He was stranded in a death-row: 
the civilians were killed. 
Was a meditating Buddha with 
a bomb, doing his routine job 
of annihilation? 

I am surprised of a god walking 
in the graveyard to find his own 
son lying asunder six feet deep 
below the burden of kisses from 
the vanishing mankind.

Satish Verma

19 September, 2010


A rock becomes a philosopher. 
Refuses to move 
looking at the stars. 

Rogue shirts were walking 
on the clouds of unknowing. 
I wanted to remove all the clocks. 

Who was stealing the water? 
Secret of life? Impiety had 
undone the pillars of random love. 

Ashes volcanic or of tears enter 
the pores of consciousness. 
The screams wake up the dark blood. 

A naked doll pelts the grey eyes 
on the blood sucking story. 
A dark tunnel opens in street.

Satish Verma

18 September, 2010


To get my dues I come to your door 
talking to myself 
Today I will present you 
my theme song in a live shooting belt. 

A confined thought had 
the influence fading away 
It was a stark, frightful 
journey to venus. 

Will not tell everything 
about the wounds of earth. 
It was raging. You tell lies 
for seeking liberation from commitments. 

Trading abuses when love was lost, 
the ancient tribe plays a game. 
You have let me grow into a tree 
standing at the dirty drain of life.

Satish Verma

16 September, 2010


The bone line travels 
from flesh to flesh, 
tears into blood. 
I was not crude, not blunt. 
Dew teasers, 

were my guests with luggage 
of pain, ready to dip to taste 
the language of surrender. 
There was no acrimony 
between enemies. 

Across a hot blazing desert 
walking barefoot to find you 
in a vein of green water, O my curse 
I will scoop you into my poem 
to become a daisy.

Satish Verma

13 September, 2010


Firing of neurons 
under the weight of ruthless 

A crowd collects the strength of collider 
and starts throwing back 
sparks in dark. 

Each face looks like a spider 
alighted from alienness: 
distills terror. 

The smile 
was a miracle. 
Never materializes 

A prayer time 
for balloons 
ready to commit unforgivable sin, sin.

Satish Verma

11 September, 2010


Turns me on 
I will write a poem. 

Delirious moon had 
picked me up from under the skin. 

The safety pin was broken, 
now a crowd will disrobe me. 

Everytime when my pain makes you cry 
oranges are not meant for the sale. 

A collegium will stich up the wound. 
Once upon a caste the country will go. 

• On reading Orange Crush of Simone Muench.

Satish Verma

09 September, 2010


Fire in kidneys 
was burning the basket. 
Privacy of green thumbs 
was intimately involved. 

Let us share the candle light march 
for the blossoms, 
who would not stay 
for old birds, 

Read me again the epitaph 
of the martyr, who wanted to remain 
unsung, for the sorrow of 
the flowing river. 

Frenzy of a lone wolf was 
inconsolable, when the dam spilled 
the dead wood on the empty 
bed of roses.

Satish Verma

06 September, 2010


Sky drank the moon 
when night was cool. 

A lone tree on roadside 
waits for the prowling wolf 

to steal the electric skin 
like the veins on the breast. 

River was flowing 
nudging, cleaving the rising frenzy. 

Still the thirst does not sink 
like the torpedoed sub. 

A dropp contains million faces of a moon. 
A moon does not have a drop.

Satish Verma

04 September, 2010


Putting the fire in mouth 
as a last rite 
he readied himself for the onslaught 
of questions, who will attack like 
leeches, the blood sucking parasites. 

It was a bizarre coalition of love 
between kissing cousins. 
The knifing will continue with 
weapons of death. The suckers will neither 
kill you, nor keep you alive. 

At what price to get the ice from the Mt.Himalayas. 
An abode of god was nursing the blood stained 
footprints of men, the escalating war 
and dripping mane of black sun. 
Huge clouds begin a chorus of dark light.

Satish Verma

31 August, 2010


I do not want to take you, 
either the road ahead, 
or lovely gyrations 
on low stage of voicelessness. 

The swoop of eagle 
on a little bundle, 
of chromatic fever: 
was it unbirdy? 

The tree of death grows taller 
than indelible darkness 
of life, harvesting 

Part of me were you, 
I had abandoned in fog. 
The gate will not open 
in common courtyard.

Satish Verma

24 August, 2010


It was not mandatory. 
The penalty 
of hope. 

From a killing machine 
propane and fertilizer. 
It was a god’s day. 

Don’t want to contend 
against porous death. 
Words, I will not betray.

Satish Verma

21 August, 2010


A weeping willow was telling 
a trove of memories, 
for an ancient provenance 
where the lake sleeps. 

Why the sheen of water brings out 
ephemerality of ‘if’. You want to 
take a holy dip, never to come up again 
in the throes of birth and death. 

And waves, why they clap when they 
are hooked up with the winds? Was it 
to marry the sky? I am counting 
the stars fallen to the street. 

Back to the moon in skunk night 
of slimming curves and opulent 
nose for a ride in bed, sorting out 
the remaining stones.

Satish Verma

19 August, 2010


By candlelight 
crooked fingers drew a face 
on water for the sake 
of sun. 
Night will tell the fate 
of flame. 

Smothers with Magnolia’s 
There was an eerie silence 
near the alarm clock. 
Time to wake up. 

The flowers in the book 
will never read my story. 
A naked bird hops in a cage for, 
a parallel existence for another journey, 
meeting an intelligent end.

Satish Verma

16 August, 2010


Your genome was climbing down. 
I hate to count the steps. 

Feathers hurt sometimes 
after the end of flying. 

How far was the moment of dust? 
You were still swimming in saline water. 

A collective guilt will pay the price. 
Blissfully nothing else was to be done. 

On your behalf I will not accept any alms 
I was giving it, and I was taking it. 

Was it a disaster, a visit from the lake. 
My feet were wet and my eyes were wet.

Satish Verma

14 August, 2010


A translator hits the stop 
a parable tells the million lies. 

The spill was overflowing the walking fire, 
dissenters were rising from seabed. 

Looking inward I open a pathway 
leading to home faraway. 

Who will keep it contained, the smouldering 
anger? The colossus was bleeding inside. 

Cut moon, as the death walks between stars 
into forgetful sky. Overnight it was red. 

The necklace crosses a lake becoming 
a swan’s neck in tearing chains.

Satish Verma

12 August, 2010


The danger lurks in corner. 
After double helix, 
Now cobalt pencil writes 
the history of mankind. 

Dirty bomb gives determinate 
meaning of peace. I turn back 
to be eaten alive. Like a blade of grass 
you bend for the cuckoo. 

Rattle snake in a jar or in bush 
strikes awe. Everything comes to 
naught when you move faster along 
with teeth. 

Suspended beans unhulled, were bent 
upon to obliterate the white roots 
suspended in air. I purse 
my lips to kiss a rope.

Satish Verma

09 August, 2010


A volcanic kiss 
was becoming ungreen. 
The shark was coming. 

All night it was raining. 
The sap was rising 
and love-farm was deluged. 

A blue moon 
walks on the dry eyes. 
Why the tears had gone to exile? 

A mole was growing 
on the face, 
while a smile was sitting outside. 

When I woke up 
into her arms, the moon 
was blith and round.

Satish Verma

06 August, 2010



A body 
lives in my pocket 
I fathered a hundred moons. 


You touch me 
with wet nose 
I know you have come. 


The golden grapes 
on your tongue 
were very sweet. 


becomes a squatter 
I will peel off the tangerines. 


It was 
A gold mine, at night 
hissing on snake.

Satish Verma

03 August, 2010



Somebody puts a hand 
on my shoulder 
I turn around 
suddenly it was moon. 


Do you hear 
the inaudible voices 
of abstruse frosting. 
The leaves are falling. 

What you did not know 
was my pain. 
When I felt illumminated 
in dark.

Satish Verma

30 July, 2010


In the surge of dark 
there was a lunar smile in my glass 
I will not abandon the moons 
in your eyes. A white sow was 
going to deliver the babies. 

It was departure time 
and the profile was ready to collapse. 
Mars was throwing the loaves 
to human beings and aliens were 
going to land on earth. 

Sing my baby, sing. Opening the 
knots of life, returning to barn 
in wild tempest. I know I have 
to unearth the buried truth and 
talk to ghosts of lies.

Satish Verma

26 July, 2010


It was a big trauma. 
Granary went overboard, 
my boat was torpedoed. 

No romance was left now. 
At the burial of the moon 
aliens were arriving. 

You do not want to call it a genocide. 
The massacre of millions, of children 
and women. The civil war was inside you, 

not in the homes of innocents. A god 
falls on the rail-tracks to commit 
suicide. His severed limbs I would not see. 

I want to close the window, 
as the white dove was carrying 
dead leaves for a mass grave.

Satish Verma

24 July, 2010


O Hubble 
what was the need, 
to discover, to go beyond 
for it. 

It was here 
in our hearts, 
the dark energy. 
When hearing would be lost. 

I will go extraplanetory 
to find the truth 
of star birth. 
On earth everyday a star is born.. 

On hundred light-years 
down in a bottomless pit. 
The contusion brings out the stale 
abuses. No kindness for even gods.

Satish Verma

20 July, 2010


Myriad of grasshoppers were sitting 
on the leapless bush 
celebrating the earth. 

I was never happy 
with the anniversary of thirst 
eating the memories of green. 

His hand rummages 
to collect the shrunk berries 
from my chest. 

Today the sun will step down 
in honour of a cloud 
who opened a hole in a collider 

I am the mother 
and I am the father 
of a homeless moon.

Satish Verma

18 July, 2010


Why did you have to come in this world 
to become a medical waste? 

There was no urgency to dropp in 
and then remain unnoticed, 
with no symptoms of life. 
Later scooped by a dumper 
you are thrown on garbage. 

Vertical hope becomes synonym 
for a peak spewing lava. 
A collage sits in my eyes. 
Yet I wipe out tears of anonymity. 
The night comes to hold me in black arms. 

After the squall 
there was the rain and 
unrelenting moon.

Satish Verma

16 July, 2010


Coming face to face with hemlock 
you are not able to rain in the animal 
and start climbing the temperamental tree. 

Fathered by innocence of violence 
on the name of war, when were you 
going to kill? Your own progency? 

Slice by slice I am collecting the 
wrath of tinderbox, dry winds 
and volcano for the sake of peace. 

And I hear the night’s arrival 
without moon, without stars. 
The black needles will stitch the wounds of sun.

Satish Verma

12 July, 2010


The particulate allegories 
were tossed around. 
The wheels had refused 
to exit. 

Unscathed, phrases 
were erupting in pulses. 
There was flame and ice 
Inherent - 

in the silicate of 
wedded friendship. 
Who was afraid of the bed 
in heydays 

of thorns down the roses? 
An endless journey for the 
bleeders in labyrinthine life 
of yes and no.

Satish Verma