30 June, 2010


The hurt begins to move 
and meets in a funeral procession. 

For aging fireworks this was the last chance, 
but lake had dried up. 

There was no fall tonight of the moon 
All the stars had gone for a memorial service. 

The candle light vigil begins with a sole survivor. 
The genotypes will multiply. 

The legend had the last breath 
and then walked away in a big whole. 

I were you, to take the revenge 
from the sobbing me who sent the body 
without a soul.

Satish Verma


Driving green fire 
out of melodies. 
It was not make-believe 
not mannerism 
but smell of autopsy. 
A pseudo-elegy starts 
at burial site. 

Frugality of dust 
first decides to go to god 
and then die. 
Race, religion, tribe 
and their foot-soldiers 
had become red 

for lupines. It feels like 
fire of hell. I am drunk 
and I am burning.

Satish Verma

18 June, 2010


You toppled the invisible 
burning the unburied buttons 
joining the history of names. 

Will I be able to communicate 
with straw to find out the age 
of the unarrived seeds? 

There is too much violence in 
green blood. The broken tooth 
bled to death of a truth. The 

oratory was becoming a weapon 
to break your mirrors. Will there 
ever be peace to flying guests? 

A service should be rendered 
to the poem who burned like a 
candlelight in the stormy night.

Satish Verma

17 June, 2010


Among the crania, clouds allowed 
a variation of sky. The hominids 
stood up and started a stride, with 
long steps towards noxious future. 

The cobalt was emitting radiation 
turning you black, melting your bones, 
suppressing the marrow. On the thigh 
climbs the holocaust. 

A child in polythene, O golden god 
you have killed the man by giving him 
the gifts. The sand-pit, I am buried 
alive in it before I understood. 

Of stones, a voice was rising. Do 
we address the deep water disappearing 
fast in the mind? A projectile to 
be worshipped?

Satish Verma

15 June, 2010


In the dust storm 
a discarded moon 
sat in my lap. 

Then internal rhythm 
Amorphic I would not find the music 

of words translated into a kiss. 
Gold started weeping 
in my hands. 

The clouds will rest 
after committing a sin, 
of letting out the sun.

Satish Verma

14 June, 2010


It was inheritance 
of age 
before the mirrors 
for the language of windows. 

The high rise buildings 
always cast a pall of gloom.earth seems to slide 
and I cannot reach the sky. 

I want to say 
what I did not want to say. 
The lake has gone in a siege 
till infinity. 

Wrap me a sharp knife 
I will cut my tongue today 
to offer to goddess of shame. 
The light has gone away from my heart.

Satish Verma

12 June, 2010


Wearing a skin 
where flesh had melted 
in blankness. 

The moon was sitting 
on window 
parting the curtains 

The sunset 
accepts the death 
as final verdict 

Small scholars 
will find out the pain 
of molesting. 

Estrogen untamed 
on street 
rises in arches.

Satish Verma

09 June, 2010


Spurred the kerosene 
to burn the logistics. 
I had moved on untrodden snow 
of tanned gifts. 

There was no tomorrow for me, 
living from moment to moment. 
The warships 
had moved into positions. 

Adoring the monotheisn, I still 
loved many angels, you were 
making many moons for me. 
Breathless I was running after gold rings. 

Terrible, the bell breaks my ankle 
and the anklets emit the trembling 
moons. Let us go out on the lake 
I have many scores to settle.

Satish Verma

02 June, 2010


Will you tell me what it was 
the unknown of the known? 
When you step into the eyes of stangers 
you start talking without uttering a single word. 

Give me back the body, 
of dark pink matter 
to understand the god’s will. 
He was sitting in field of sugarcane. 

The petrol burns with hate 
in the necks of panthers. 
Tiger, tiger I look at my son coming back 
after encounter. 

The bleeding revolution has overturned 
tomorrow. No body knows where we are heading. 
The babies flick like tender candles 
inside the saints.

Satish Verma

01 June, 2010


Vexed at a long sit in, 
after collision 
we will meet at a canal 
in the watery grave. 
You believed in philosophy of giving 
I would apologize for the slaughter of babies. 

Pink dolls 
I wished to know why they were thrown 
on a bank of the river. 
The maroon red water 
wanted to snub the lawmakers. 
Step out from bloody arm badges, 

there was no hope to count 
the death toll. Abandoned lies 
the face of god in mud. 
Paper name for the dead child 
paper name for the living father.

Satish Verma