21 March, 2010


The mysterious rival:
suffering of resignation.
I am reading myself for the surrealism of life,
juxtaposition of love and hate.
Another blast went off.

White rose and black rose in the same
garland; ruins of truth
were older than lies. Humiliation
brings another crop of mines.
Must keep the walk on cinders alive.

Raging moon will rise again
on the blue lake, with earthly whiteness.
The distant invite of future makes the present
sustainable. I will ask the infant sun
to enter slowly.

Satish Verma


One crisp scaffold.
Was it possible that it became generous?
For the street which turns
the mutation into xenograft.

I pretend to be which I am not
for fear of dying daily or sleep no more
in the lineage of hope. The gallows
are set on every corner.

I walk behind blackness to hear
the steps of moon in exile for vindication
of sober sins against the sky. The blue
souls were going to release the verdict.

Without rejecting the will to count the stars.

Satish Verma


Inheriting the dust of street
something of a lofty ideal
in politics of poverty, I want to get back
to my native moon.There are
too much wounds here.

My green blessings came from the dark.
Sun was altering the geometry of crops.
Genes were manipulated and the
debate was running on fiction.
Down the drain went the hybrids.

To glow or not to glow was the big question
and the hunger was discovering the cause.
Suicides had toppled the numbers
and clouds had become colorful.
God knows when the ceremony will end.

Satish Verma


The shift to vernal tone
starts a standoff with eyelashes.
A sickle moon begins
harpooning the stars.

The unorthodox microlove
brings out a ciliated canon
of faithless interior. The gods
were going to become weary of snowfall.

Punctuating the silence, words
again scream, fly like eagles
in the valley of wounds. How far
the fire will go engulfing the untouchable?

Satish Verma


Not moving, the words
had gone into inertia. The space was shrinking.
Only restlessness was there in buoyancy
ready to distort the sound of depth.

I am expanding in propriety,
in meaning.
Pure burning on flame of truth,
like a moth.

Listen to the guilt,
the denial to the stasis of soul.
The loneliness brings the touch
of unlimited falls.

Satish Verma


What was left in our hands
after risk and awards were given to seekers?
Sign of grace at hairpin bends
was absent.Nobody was speaking.

A moratorium was announced.
Somebody will have a glimpse of the moon
through the interstices of pain. Not
a word will be uttered for the elite

ravines of truth. Blessings of facts
will interact with amnesias. The bribery
of bleeding will extract a price. I
am moving the wheels of doubt. The
vulture of time throws a shadow.

Satish Verma


In time warp, to find
the fell of a dark moon
my thoughts bring out a birthday gift.

The first step in fog
discovers the sharp edge
of kindness.

Who will believe
this black and white,
suicide of a sage?

Newborn roses and dahlias
speak through
the nothingness of fear.

I just saw the face of death
floating on a pond.
Ashes and bones out of the urn.

Satish Verma


Rebirth of an anxiety,
of an abstract thought,
takes on the impossible of something
left between false and true.
Out of spite some body was betraying the life.

A bodiless lie becomes an imposter
beats the truth and walks away.
You, dumbfounded, discover a malignancy
in the roots of a crying tree.
The soil bacteria were taking over the grains.

The price of the sick crop, the insects,
the greed of the state, where the normal
man will go. The comets and the crabs
are circling the island. Scratch the prophecy,
and every man was turning against himself.

Satish Verma


This life has snubbed the bloom

like a thick brown sac
thrown on the sod.

An octogenarian tries to slice
the hope indulgingly
to achieve immortality!

Was it a virile snarl?
A rose bud wrenched open
in a fatherless home.

We are spinning round the bell.
It may not tell the god.

A moon finds a rival
in the lake.
Night opens like a black tulip.

Satish Verma


to inner voice,
peeling off the hurts,

hammered memories.
You dropp the answer
and throw back the question.

Something was totally amiss
Absence overtakes the presence.
The shadow was more frightening.

No movement,
A lull before a flash,
then explosion. The limbs will fly.

The ending of thought
or beginning of emptiness?
A green death starts thinking.

Satish Verma

04 March, 2010


In the city of avatars
uncharitable names were cropping up
for wet and wild awards
scripted on lips of unreliable nights.

I wanted to quit archives
of headless soldiers and standing back
wanted to watch a river
of corpses flowing to morgue.

Another blast has killed a dozen
bystanders, who were shopping
for a white chador of peace
from blood-streaked owners.

Become a homosexual to catch up
the wave. Don’t tell, don’t give up.
The birthing of blue moon amidst white stars
will take place shortly

Satish Verma


What were the lies in a truth
of the buried day?
Fabulous cries? Tears?

It was a tremble down
in the standing crop of men
ready to be genetically modified.

Each walk in the city
exhausts you to an innocent
tale of manipulated fiction.

Insects, yes insects
were climbing on the moon
like saints with flowing beards

to drink the blackness
of sky. There had been a method
in their madness, in death and whiteness.

Satish Verma


A proxy life
I was fighting in the hourglass
to open the pathways of a grain
for a bloody birth of an idea.

Was time faithful to us
when we were drifting apart?
A prowling big cat had again attacked in dark
and broken the necks of lambs.

Now miracles are flying
and you want to get the solid gold
hidden in a borewell, the colour
of a sunset and a yellow wager.

Today I will forget the grief
of generations, dispossessed of death and myths.
You have not lifted the pugmarks
unburdening my truth.

Satish Verma


When moon will wash my doors
I will come out in night
to find you in dark
and lose you in light.

Does it resonate with you
O my truth
O my pain
time has moved back.

My love whitens the shadow
of a black rose in the nakedness of waking.
Do not want to disappoint the sun
and enter into a grain.

I am the stillness and I am
the noise. Motherless I am born
in black water
of immaculate death.

Satish Verma


Untie my hour with the Mars
I am burning and I am going to disappear
in my words. An alienation of a healer in deep
angst? What did you find in the night of confrontation?
Will you be able to save the babies
in wombs of truth?

I have turned my back without blaming
on the fictional fall. The first pain was the stranger.
No other had been the same in complete solitude.
Do I need to take a side in the face of suffering?
Today is more dangerous than tomorrow and
I am going to make a deal with my talent.

The rules are becoming charred shirts
covering a pure body. Give me hands to
ship the thunder in bay of blood.

Satish Verma


After running for the flesh,
why did you make a home for the death?
Was it a reverence
for buying the peace?

Or fear of uncertainty
and suspense in the bosom of pain?
The panther was only thirsty, there was
no need to shoot him.

I will fight the war
on my own terms, in defence of liberation.
In moment of defeat, there
will be celebration of truth for homage to a truce.

Give me some reason to die.

Satish Verma


Cambium will cheat one day
the pace of climb,
snakes will dance
peeling off the skin –

the urgency of moon
to take away the body of victim
from sunscape.

You thrive on a window
switching off the sky.
A quaint reptile walks on the moon.

The medium sits on a black stone
and the mob
burns the house of a lord

Sarracenia, your lip is too large.
for a kiss of death. I am coming down the steps
to drink the acid

Satish Verma


profiling the divine phallus
on terraced shrouds of fault the dilemma
of arcane notation starts for that
succultent rumours, emotively torn asunder,

a green room becomes epiphanic,
the voice was gone with black sun;
buried onto neck in the drenched earth
the age old sins will be purified

today i meet you for a refusal to place
wreaths for soft death unceremoniously in
the lethal dose for assisted end of life;
a flame hangs like a pendant on the wall,

deflowered chaste tree, stretched unchilled
in deep wounds: it turns to my inner
eye, the voyage to anonymity of incomplete
cries of a broken dream, tody sleep not

Satish Verma


unrearthing the fallen saint
you wash your feet
and enter the temple of forgotten god:

cult of escapc from
tangled half- truths
with dramatic entry of hysterics

you fail to accept yourself,
the grieving death – mask
transcends a fresco

labyrinthine, spacey
soul-sick mates
disputing for no things

the unstained shirt
reminds the absence
you bake a new recipe

Satish Verma


I begin unlearning
the script, in irreality,
find myself

my shadow in intermission
envelops the virtue
peak of sorrow, silence of space,

give your hand, within clarity
of reason, inner globe
of light, your kiss melts.

A water lily grows
in my palm, full of tears,
a terror strikes on thumb

like a dismembered limb
a veiled moon walks in night
to reach home.

The sun will find the road empty!

Satish Verma


Depth of a bruised sea
rising from the surface
overwhelms the dumb shore

for impossible tomorrow
golden sand, the locked door.

History repeats amnesia
for a depressed meniscus
shifts the nameplate.

Here was laid the image of
priestlees god of dusty face
small dreams.

The book remains incomplete
who wrote the contents
for blank pages?

Satish Verma


for self deception
sulfur fumes incite
mood swings
soaring to clean the malice,

reaper of gravity zero
what was the price,
of a tongue, mimicking
the greatness?

between birth and death,
for survival of crotch,
undressing the fear, terror
inflicts the pumice,

for honour killing
a roadside encounter,
with meddling of thighs,
lets down the clouds,

words in print were unccceptable
for a verdict on a silky mat
my fate splits open like a pod
in summer, for a love untold

Satish Verma


scape without a name
scepter of a colossus
merge in a yellow boom
between hunch and a knife,

to keep shut the glassy lips
from red stares
a secret of an anonym
scripting sunset

the stacked neurotransmission
of millions of texts
with quietus
not to return back without the foe’s skull

a hollowness reverberates
while indifference talks
of moon’s lair
nor a dwindling shoulder –

and the tigers have disappeared
from sanctury

Satish Verma