29 June, 2011


After the puppet show, 
the nest was calling. 
Indeed, the leaves held the slanted light 
expanding the shade snared on branches, 

of dancing ash, of almond eyes. 
Why the hangman was waiting 
for the echo? The river was calling. 

Was this the inheritance of less 
talent of pugmarks, which strayed 
into the city of abused words? 
The book was calling? 

After birth there was no death of my 
rhyme. The flesh has gone, only 
the burning bones are lying 
on bed of roses.

Satish Verma

25 June, 2011


Was that a non-devil effort 
to hide the language 
from cultural onslaughts? 

The anger splits the opinion 
about hurting goodness. 
An isolated insult will spur 

the words against the flight over 
the answer, before the brush 
with picketing fear, showing heroism. 

I speak for unknown enemies 
who wanted to alter the season 
by planting horror on the street.

Satish Verma

24 June, 2011


An unusual melody, 
a reticent antiquarian 
I will wear my galloping age 
with your dark eyes. 

The lines were drawn 
in the crocus fields. 
We were fighting for the wild 
immitative geckoes. 

A toad stumbles out from the eyelids 
of a zero hour. You will not 
touch the counterfeit of questions 
thrown at the meadows. 

Evening of life celebrates 
the failures. In the beginning 
there were no lights. 
End came with a red moon.

Satish Verma

20 June, 2011


Perfect bridges for a fading light 
taking you to dark caves 
like fireclay in fake sorrows. 

The superstition of a race pool 
and unearthing the sacred temple 
under a mount of lies. 

In vitro a baby god sleeps 
waiting for a butcher knife 
impaling the hymn on thorns. 

A silver lining for a black moon 
who refused to walk away. 
The stars were frightened and bewildered. 

A corporal punishment was waiting 
for the sun who neglected 
his duty during sundown.

Satish Verma

18 June, 2011


It was getting dark. 
The insane curve of greed was rising. 
I would not draw the boundaries 
between the words. 

The finch was immersed 
in soliloquies and light was waiting 
inside the seeds. 

I open my eyes 
and yell at the clouds in hyperboles 
becoming stranger to myself. 

Who belongs here 
in slit eyes? Each flower was leaving 
a blemish, for the winter. 

Tell me, 
who you are in the twist of reality. 
A proverb is going to be taken away.

Satish Verma

15 June, 2011


It was a failed attempt 
to employ the eternity 
for breathing. 

Iris, I cannot find the moon 
behind the rainbow, when 
I was throwing petals at your feet. 

O, white truce of anemone, 
why phosphrous was given up 
at the fall of an oak? 

In heaps of praises, 
a monologue of the lamb 
in the den of lions.

Satish Verma

10 June, 2011


A fake sanity with its wisdom 
enlarges the space between the coarse 
land of craft and sea of emotions 
for stress to walk with soul 
in sleep. 

A dope for the last hurt in hurricane 
at burning lake where I was collecting 
the black seeds from the fallen tree 
of love near the deck of house we built 
on waves. 

Do not corrupt the innocence of sky 
enveloping the rage of sun. The call was 
imminent from the dead leaves of autumn. 
One day the anginous waste will become 
seed vessels.

Satish Verma

05 June, 2011


While writing a poem 
I make a blood hole 
in my hand. 

A walnut face 
opens the wrinkles 
to find a jade green nephrite 
for colicky times. 

A prelude to 
a death sentence 
for profane thoughts. 

You think, you can postpone 
insomnia of the longest night. 
The insects were waiting in wings 
to crawl on your beloved body.

Satish Verma

02 June, 2011


How will you carry the mount of tears 
in the vally of temples? Kites flowing 
in sky of beings-egos-denials and 

Smiling at pain I unspeak to a keeper 
of cage, under the shadow of golden 
roses, walking with blue eyes of private 

I craved and dispossessed myself in the 
rainy convulsions. The stupidity of 
invoking rainbows. In tall grasses 
the eyes were looking for the brazen 

And I am arrived today at the quirky 
revealation to exist or not to 
exist amids the crouching facts, trees 
down shedding the arms and legs 

Satish Verma