26 October, 2011


Must I give you 
the chilled truth of dry winds 
till the fire 
reaches the backyard? 

The half-thumb 
was held by the wheels. 
Why you were pushing 
the hearse 
of a dead lie? 

was the letter written by moon 
to the damp cloud. 
The rain drops will never 
agree for the trysts.

Satish Verma

19 October, 2011


It was a freak accident of epithelium 
under anaesthesia. 
You place a window 
on to a hollow brain. 

The money makes the monkey out of you. 
A green light 
blocks the fish, your memory, 
to swim in black thoughts. 

The yellow rose burns 
in your hand. It was beginning of 
a domestic race. The nightmares will 
take care of the sleep.

Satish Verma

14 October, 2011


Was that a robot 
claiming friendship 
with the relics of past? 

Or a quirk of a raw nerve 
conversing with history: 
and we will wait for centuries 

to build a new scream 
under the pale moon 
in wingless night. 

Whispering sex to flowers, 
bees scrambled on the skin 
of wooly leaves.

Satish Verma

11 October, 2011


The visible was most 

Watching the moon 
through veil. 

A bomb explodes 
in your hands. 
The poem wavers- 

and then falls on dew. 

This was not bone-green; 
not a fake cloud – 

to kiss the feet 
of a burning god. 

It was natural conjugation 
between enemies.

Satish Verma

06 October, 2011


Absurdity was waylaid 
like a black swan on the 
grass shaking a leg. 

A child walks through me 
antithetical to scorched life 
of parallel egos. 

Austerity was neither present 
nor absent.Volcanic ash 
was spewing on recti. 

It was drifting, the snow bound 
killer, spilling the blood in sea. 
Home was still for away.

Satish Verma