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