31 August, 2012


Standing in a milk line you were 
talking of depravity, of blood lines 
and the breast enhancement. 

A teenage fringe bomber wants 
to sew the civil society and explodes 
himself before the empty bakery. 

A young gal throws her son 
from the ninth floor and then jumps 
to get the justice from indifferent god. 

Can we talk and wash away our 
guilt? Crossing the river was 
not enough, we need drinking water. 

Bits of human flesh are plastered 
on the walls. The death wears a 
face of daddy to kill the times.

Satish Verma

30 August, 2012


Was busy 
carving out the white clouds 
like stanzas, unflawed. 
Now I begin to fall apart. 

No meaning was left in a drink. 
You could see only your image 
drowning in a scented charity. 
At last I am watching myself. 

Black paper. The ink was white. 
Speechless. No body language. 
Only you will discover the space 
between the unspoken words. 

Only buttons know the hollowness 
of a floating gun. Meeting you in 
an empty glass. Future will always 
talk of a setting sun.

Satish Verma

29 August, 2012

Breaking The Rules

Graveyard of stillbirths. 
I am walking on severed legs. 

She was pushed off a moving train. 
Could not be raped. 

No I don’t see any sickly aberration. 
It was ossification of stunted intellect. 

Who was desperate to exit the hazy 
flesh? Peel off my skin. It is dirty. 

You are becoming furniture. Drunk. 
Immovable. The bed was moving. 

Holding the breasts of mannequins 
you walk down the stairs for a rejoinder.

Satish Verma

28 August, 2012


After a grand design 
there was a white leap 
to find a boat in darkness. 

Time was dusting the frame 
of memory, and the age 
will grieve for the lost vision. 

The pace of assaults will 
increase over the burning windows. 
This was my priviledge. 

The tongue tastes a superbug. 
Some celestial entity, guideless 
but ready to rub on the flame. 

Here lies the moon of beaten stars. 
Nothing was terrible 
in greasing the naked groom.

Satish Verma

27 August, 2012

Even The Planets

Pieces of day falling like 
severed limbs of time. 
Acoustic shadows 
drinking the pain. 

Exodus has started 
of thoughts to find an 
enabler, for misting voices 
of indecisiveness. 

Obscene contour abrupts 
the ink. Now there is blank 
depression, behind the globes. 
Cubes have become toeless. 

The night has locked itself in, 
when suddenly grief becomes the sun. 
The celestial makeup was melting. 
We are becoming naked, like pupils.

Satish Verma

26 August, 2012


A black hole detonates itself 
to stigmatize the substance. 
Now a silk road leads 
to sight and touch. 

A scarecrow starts screaming. 
Sky was falling on fire. The space 
becomes deviant. Chopped hands 
were drawing the tattoos 
of winged feet. 

I return to the ashes to find 
the stolen fame. Unstable angina. 
The pain comes and goes. I am not 
going to receive the avalanche 
of burnt out thoughts. 

Want to pretend my suicide 
to meet the harbor waves.

Satish Verma

25 August, 2012


Like illegitimate sons 
becoming nephews. 
Stay with me I have lost 
my ink. 

An underground knife 
cuts you to wrist, 
you bleed on paper. 

It was a tip of trust failure 
after a wake up call by a loner; 
the molten lava will find another 
sexual pursuit. 

There was nothing left to be 
concealed, after the bonfires of veils. 
The celibate tears come unbidden 
I am going to encounter the pool.

Satish Verma

24 August, 2012

Sitting On Stairs

Vision was searching an eye, 
when you were pelting stones 
on virgin roses. 

It was a season of 
undertaking fast on streets 
to change the afternoon of people’s war. 

This verdict had antique fangs 
of cracked jaws. The sex seekers 
were finding the pollen dust on thighs. 

A hiss becomes a snake 
on trembling lips, ready 
to stun eyelashes, turning on a god. 

Cow dung will clean the pollution 
of faithful minds for graceful entry 
into the charities of inferno.

Satish Verma

23 August, 2012


Layer by layer, a pterygium 
was removed to improve the vision. 
Eyes did not blink. 

The words did not come 
on your tongue. 
You learned to become a stranger. 

A cemetery woke up tonight. 
No body was going to put 
to sleep in dark. 

For peace you die, 
living alone with death 
in a desert of bullets. 

Under the sun 
you abandon food for the sake of red ants, 
who were going to crawl on your body.

Satish Verma

22 August, 2012


The world has shrunk. 
Have sex in half-black 
bipartisan calculations. 

Ripping apart, 
no body was naked 
inside the costume. 

I was too wakeful 
under the ventilator. 
They were killing me methodically. 

It was theatrical. 
White gowns and blue gowns. 
Only miracle was nude. 

This was an endless pit. 
Young boys had learned 
to rape.

Satish Verma

21 August, 2012


You throw the berries in the river 
to stun the fish. 
A mannequin wants to go nude. 
The tormentor holes up 
in a bunker. 

You undertake a fast 
to clean the dirty plumes of 
a swan who will not take a flight 
in blackening dawn. 

The curse was on the hooks 
who will bite only the plastic 
dolls. O moonless night, I 
want to disappear in the silk 
of queer crowds.

Satish Verma

20 August, 2012


A candid flint 
stretches the sexlessness 
of a family. 
Let the rootless plants start 
a ritual of reproduction. 

A kiss of undergrass 
takes you back home for a bloodless 
dawn. Say something for those 
who have not seen the moon. 
No answers were available for green questions. 

There was no naked mouth 
to feed the darkness.The dew scorches 
the flame.A cloud will lift 
the night and scars will become opaque 
in the forecast.

Satish Verma

19 August, 2012


Still talking to a ghost 
in oblique manner 
about sexuality. 

A centuary plant has not 
wants to die. 

The loincloth covers 
the ocean floor 
where it shipwrecked. 

A fake will do. 
God was on dialysis. 
Chemistry of kiss did not work. 

Between bullets and bread 
grievers will descend 
for a lost saviour.

Satish Verma

18 August, 2012


A hand without fingers 
draws a self-portrait. 
Faceless, only eyes glaring 
like bucketfull of burning coals. 

Was it not enough to call ‘wolf’. 
The pain scorches the compound 
where the blood of innocent flowed 
because somebody was burning woods. 

The shifting continues in the ocean 
of grief, but the kelp 
remains there, connot be eased out. 
Even the violence makes the water blue. 

You were inhailing the white 
gowned death everyday. A 
moonlit landscape mourns 
for the living on earth.

Satish Verma

17 August, 2012


Not the words, 
you were burning the papers 
sideways. It was a public domain 
someone was drowning a child 
in a milk pot. 

And the half-past moon, 
iodine level was rising in ocean. 
On the beach, the dancing sand 
throws up the dead horse 
after dysfunctionality. 

Pray for the bleeding sun, 
its golden mane has inspired 
the mimicry of a leaf. The grass hopper 
is going to find the secret 
of chlorophyll.

Satish Verma

16 August, 2012

Faceless Journey

An insider was asking: 
this was a very troubling question. 
Why a culture becomes sick, 
burns the book, 
and beheads a god? 

Forgive my loincloth. This 
century was becoming very hot 
till the nose bleeds 
and fills the cauldron 
of kiss. 

The dust was settling 
on the pages of history. 
Strangly you want now a 
sexless death. Porn and religion 
were making you realy mad.

Satish Verma

15 August, 2012


A city prepares to die. 
What is the real time now 
for blemishing the skin of a man? 

In your violet eyes 
I will find a moon 
for an encounter. 

An alien wall comes up 
between us.We cannot shed 
the veils of clouds. 

I hate brother, hate the 
ambassadors of death 
in the voluptuousness of greed. 

O my shadow, 
dying was a great art.

Satish Verma

13 August, 2012


Lapis lazuli: 
like a crazy theme of 
hostile doctrine, 
spawning a fierce battle 
of bulge. 

It was scary 
like a scrawny lizard 
climbing on the breasts. 

The hoarse retreat of the arm, 
when the lamb did not 
squeal under the machete. 

Poking in frozen mud, 
to find the footprints of a mammoth, 
when trees were bleeding.

Satish Verma

12 August, 2012


Crush of holy hands 
on blue skin of a flame 
was the wet revenge 
of a withering rose. 

That defiant streak bursts 
with knowledge of a sin. 
White and black, 
this was me and my unwrapped flesh. 

Dirty glory of a monologue 
downs the shutters and takes a plunge 
with a chute into the smoking 
cauldron of a cult. 

In the bed a grave was dug 
deep to bury the ashen virtue 
of a chopped-up moon, 
who had a dream of nonviolence.

Satish Verma

11 August, 2012


An image was talking to you 
in your mind. 
There were fudged voices 
of foot soldiers of half-gods. 

I was scared of synthetic leaves 
and black stars. 
It was a most explicit blood dance 
baring-all, the hiss of cones. 

You wanted to define yourself 
by overexposing the bisexual 
stain. Celibacy was 
unleaping in shadow. 

The blessings will not wait. 
You stay in coma after the haemorrhage. 
The bloodbath will find the answer 
in fever of sheer size.

Satish Verma

09 August, 2012


In the sea of flesh: 
I will not say 
what I mean. 

In nameless pit 
of hollow breast, 
a parting kiss 
of poetry. 

I will count my steps 
walking on tectonic plates 
before the quake hits. 

It was the green blood 
of craft. 
A bloodless surgery 
on heart.

Satish Verma

08 August, 2012


While tracing a home by charcoal 
on a white paper, I hear, 
a word comes from the wolf. 
A fat was being pumped 
into the face of a tryant to inflate 
him into a giant. 

Butterflies were undulating with 
excitement in an inchoate garden. 
Fidelity was going down and graves 
had no skeletons. 

From the eyes of a lamb you pick 
up a necklace to weave a snare trap. 
Because I would not come back again. 
You catch the dust in chimes.

Satish Verma

07 August, 2012


The wind was talking 
about the fever of thoughtless verdict 
of a wrong moral 
for a clean exit. 

In these times of conflict 
during green burial, you will not 
start a dialogues for fear of 
annoying the priest. 

The sun was digging out the 
cotyledons from the reactors, 
the tainted water will take the revenge 
on shocked sky. 

A hole is dug in the heart 
of scavengers. They will not 
find the healthy food any more 
in this shirtless crowd.

Satish Verma

06 August, 2012


The grain of wood 
was nuanced for naked aggression. 
The groping could not find 
the plasma. 

Some non-believers were 
deemed insane 
by rust-tainted smiles 
of shimmering stars. 

Defiant was the crushed 
grass after caressing 
the moon in lonely 

The fine truth passed 
through the comb falling on 
salt. The sky will not 
listen to the dust.

Satish Verma

05 August, 2012


When the bloodshed starts 
at the doorstep of solemn silence, 
give me a lone engagement with the invisible 
to unchain the split heart. 

I will take away the pain 
from home and come back in failing 
light when a star meets the star 
and a moon meets the moon. 

What was your core intention 
to dismember me like a breadfruit 
and cover it with a human skin 
stapled to a dead soul? 

You drink the ruins after a collective 
failure.I am watching the sky 
for nightingales.

Satish Verma

04 August, 2012


Fakes neither audible 
nor visible. 

The moment dies 
in our hands. 
It was a non- 

Silence booms 
destroying the palace, 
of dreams. I should have 
become the scissors. 

This poem is not charitable 
gnawing at the underlip 
of an orphaned 

Satish Verma

03 August, 2012


Effectively in givenness; 
stranger in one’s own house 
you search the detritus for a lost face. 

Stay closer to me, O walls 
I am catching fire. Draw the blood from 
my veins and taste me. 

The otherworldly glow 
of the compound was a testimony: 
you cannot buy democracy. 

What would you do 
with the waste of technology 
standing on a heap of shoes?

Satish Verma

02 August, 2012


The coming of a that 
to dismantle the comb, 
unstilling trees under tracer bullets 
swaying in embrace 
for moonmilk. 

The unzipped planktons in sea 
open their mouth to supermoon for a night dive 
in a green passion. Does it 
need a scrutiny? Why a love song 
has tarnished the icy mounds? 

The venom 
of hissing light on a sleeping bay 
has erased the aging lines of art 
and face was becoming a terror. 
There will be no mercy now 
for survivors.

Satish Verma

01 August, 2012


A fat island burns 
under a looming sun. 
Bleeding rays will enter your eyes 
to see the blundering world. 

The gods were melting down 
looking at the corpses of 
faltering orchids, spread out 
at the feet of a white blaze. 

The oriole sheds the gold 
and embraces a brown – 
black cloud against 
a dazzling green. 

A dishevelled country rumbles 
to get a street sense from 
a meditating Buddha.

Satish Verma