29 February, 2012


Waiting for a chaste bread, whole 
life under the moon, 
to speak off the inconsistency of 
with a monologue 
of a needle in eyes 
for a madness of sublime verse. 

Canoeing in a frozen lake 
for a stranded rose, 
you stop at a bosky bank. 
A weeping willow greets 
the lost son. 

A school bag measures the knowledge 
of surrounding hills, who had 
plucked out the stars 
from the sky.

Satish Verma

26 February, 2012


It was haemolysed 
the homeless night. 
Flagellation will bring out the truth. 

The bloody kerchief 
was thrown on a crowd. 
A new comet was sighted. 

Dust and ice were 
near the tears. 
Sun was rising. 

Something fell 
in the lake. Death was going 
to be celebrated. 

Flesh has emptied 
the juices. Now 
bones will laugh.

Satish Verma

25 February, 2012


Have you tasted the silk 
in the pit of snakes? 
Exit was not in my fate. 

Winter was kissing my toes 
and spring was blooming down 
in my estranged poems. 

You don’t feel like to wake up 
for ingrained disbelief. 
The fangs were not ready to strike. 

There was diginity in death 
of magnolia. Snow had failed to 
appear at night. 

In the aftermath of the rains, 
the moon climbed up the hill 
to bid farewell to virgins.

Satish Verma

22 February, 2012


It did not stay in bed for long 
the ultimate. 
Clouds climbed down from immortality. 

The sick motherhood. 

We made love 
listening to winds 
draping our ashes. 

A father waited at the door. 

I am the sun 
I am the moon 
interpenetrating in you. 

In concept of two enemies.

Satish Verma

18 February, 2012

A Wall Painting

you keep the truth frozen 
like the marrow, in the limbs of life, 
producing blood cells 
when sun rises. 

Knocking again 
at a rapist door 
to leak the secrets of a hidden bed 
of polity. 

Contours of a dimmed 

The times; Oh, the tongues 
were tasting the peels of aorta.

Satish Verma

14 February, 2012


Code of the veil was 
darkening. You were searching for an 
unwritten message in bandanna. 

Rot was setting in flesh. 
Sludge was becoming a stone 
for an unmoving stream. 

The talks had failed. 
Hand-grenades will explode in shouts 
later on, to resume the protocol of death. 

Where we are going in evening 
of woods? To go searching for the sapient 
ancestors, in city of fingers? 

Years were rolling by in fog. 
The arguments were climbing on the 
black hills to meet a drunk god.

Satish Verma

10 February, 2012


Urn was carring the snow 
like the soul of night. 
It was a very strange winter 
like araucaria puzzle. 

Who was dragging the evergreens 
over the chaste cliff? 
All the incogerent roots have broken 
the placenta for new gods. 

The marriage of basil at dusk 
with a paperweight, unleaving the road. 
I was hearing the footsteps of dawn, 
though sky was not listening to knocks.

Satish Verma

06 February, 2012


This road will not take you to a theme. 
In wind, 
a pebble was making different strokes. 
Hanging stones were hiding 
the music of poppies. 

To fill in my glass of silver 
I place the stitches in images 
of naked wounds, slapping the 
pink roses on lips, the shadow 
of terrible interior crawling out in tears. 

The incredible space between hollyhocks 
bends down to pick up dead silk 
of fallen monarches. The colors will 
find the other side of moon 
in dark, except infinity.

Satish Verma

02 February, 2012


A complex ego: 
lips on a flame 
like Kama Sutra. 

Starless night 
to probe a moon 
going downhill. 

A needle in hay 
protects the wound 
of a kiss. 

Portrait was incomplete 
without pilot 
to fly a plane:

Satish Verma