30 March, 2011


A misbelief 
breaks into rags. 
Still I dream of some gods 
on black pages 

piecing together the words 
of light. The rains come 
in the cage of tears, 

Striated muscles of splintered faith 
go to cramps birthing 
the avatar 
without a mother. 

I will pick up now 
from the bounty of silence, 
of a stunning question.

Satish Verma

24 March, 2011


I had not imagined 
that you will start an inquiry 
into the creeping fog 
under the estranged moon. 

Oh, sorrow 
you had taken away my sun 
when I was still rooted in night. 

Wading through narcissi 
I was trying to catch the echo 
and give back his own award 

Pressed between the lips 
an innocent thought 
undates the passion

Satish Verma

23 March, 2011


There was no end 
to looking inside. 
I was crumbling. 

Unnamed homing in 
of anguish, 
not knowing me. 

The wasted questions 
of revival. 
A depleted dawn of a failed sun? 

A river war 
between two hills 
for a moon? 

Time to ask 
motor neurons, 
why night had failed at ending? 

Satish Verma

20 March, 2011


The ashes will come back 
in mauve, 
in furrowed face of hunger. 

I will wait for the clouds 
to welcome 
the blue flames. 

I was the one 
to walk on time 
and squeeze the truth 

for finding the essence of life, 
to know the goodness, 
of the ills of neighbourhood 

via fake creations. 
When a gull walks on the grass 
I call the sun

Satish Verma

17 March, 2011


With stoicism writ on face 
I invite the chisels 
for giving birth to a dialogue 

between me and the shaper. 
Where did the things go wrong 
in making the life a simple page 

to write a beautiful poem? 
Buddha give me a bo-tree or an interlocutor 

who invents skin, teeth and eyes 
of a failing system. The command 

has gone to unknown robots. They were 
manipulating the atrophied 

limbs of high-tech generation 
who do not know the pathless love 
when we walk into the moon, 

Satish Verma

11 March, 2011


In twilight of pain 
I blink for a dot 
to punctuate the intelligence. 

My incoherence brings the unseen. 
I stay at a vowel 
to see the truth. 

Immenseness versus depth, 
in shoals of turbulent life. 
Where do I hide my vessel? 

A lure of the exotic death 
does not bring the peach color 
to reveal the light on earth. 

An inverted blankness prints 
the words of green bruises, 
where the falls meet.

Satish Verma

02 March, 2011


It was a wake up call 
in the beginning of serene numbness. 

Under the veiled threat of 
a moon 
celebrating the kill. A path in croci; 

waiting becomes a torture for a 
saffron sundown, 
mercury was rising on snowy peaks. 

Let’s toe a shikara in the lake 
to catch a reflection 
of the audible silence of a frozen shoulder 

A pause in psychotic burst of 
unshattered false teeth 
of time in full habit.

Satish Verma