30 September, 2012


There was a soul-searching 
after a negative assassination 
tearing my past, my future. 

Beneath the burden 
lies the mountain of bail-outs. 
You don’t feel whole 
in shadows of countings. 

The borders were breached 
for lavish darkness 
alive under the full moon. 

Was it a flight risk in a swan 
lake, when you were 
taking a dive to pluck the 
erupting fire of indictment.

Satish Verma

29 September, 2012


Would not wear 
the seasoned face. 
Eye for eye 
blasting the truth. 

The path becomes the tunnel. 
in pain of speech 
at the expense of ethics. 

Under the fingernails 
they start interbreeding 
the ideas, crimnalizing the 
upright past. 

A vultured darkness descends 
on the raped bed. 
The great seduction of moon 
had triumphed.

Satish Verma

28 September, 2012


Boots in air 
an elite brain hangs out 
from the tall tears. 

It does not search an exit. 
Time moves out 
with a murder in eyes. 

Leading a spartan life 
in a lair, in tune 
with absolutely zilch. 

A sexy mouth mimes 
for a glittering tree. 
Parakeets were coming in swarms. 

Can you believe, he was 
in a hit list 
of a gliding moon?

Satish Verma

27 September, 2012


A livid moon had started 
a body count for undoing a book. 
The base thinks it has arrived. 

The death zones were unconnected 
by quality of crime waves. People 
have started sitting under green trees. 

A social outcast silently reaches 
the script. It was imperative that 
two-edged sowrd should become sectarian. 

The dew, the baked blood and the blades, 
wait for the lifting of sorrow. 
The fire would crack the code of death. 

Do not bribe the stained linen 
and dyed hair. The permafrost will 
swallow the petrified feet.

Satish Verma

26 September, 2012


You were half-crazy 
saving little buds 
brutalized by storm 
in a yawning night. 

The ugly silver of a fringe 
group becomes intentionally 
a hate cult, developing 
an epicenter for stripping 

to devastate a religion. The 
ghosts are walking in the 
corridors of mirrored crimes. 
There is a creeping sadness in the golden lock. 

The blood craft brings obscene 
inheritance. You hide the script of 
murder in a wheel chair. Things have 
not remained things. There is smoke all around.

Satish Verma

24 September, 2012


It was night sin 
of domesticity. Dyed, I am loading 
the white secret of pain 
in the hollow of a mayhem. 

Till every blunder takes a 
downward flight striping the outsized 
image of a kill. His flames are 
now singeing the eyebrows of angels. 

His foes have entered the compound. 
The black was alluringly looped in 
a stream of blood. Death did not 
wait for a ceremony. 

Lips forgetting the golden sheep, 
tongue apologies for the wronged earth.

Satish Verma

23 September, 2012


After the moon 
it was an unkempt night. 

I wanted to kill the narrative 
and recast the frozen history. 

A dirt road leads to a new trajectory now, 
splattered with blood. 

A double tongued thought brings 
the ire of screaming horror. 

Strapped for knowledge, he believed 
in resurrection of a black hole. 

The pain, it hurts terrible. 
Emblematic was the bending of candles.

Satish Verma

22 September, 2012


The hawk was always hatching 
a pacer, 
to spin the surveillance, 

tampering the tracks of violence. 
The haul was heavy. Moon and fishes 
went on to spread the dragnet 

striking gold from the liquid 
denials. The sovereignity was 
violated of a virgin god. 

The rule of drinking was sidelined. 
Kiss will survive after the death opens 
the back door of a globe. 

Dreams are exhausted. There will 
be no comeback of a star player 
in the game of bloody manipulations.

Satish Verma

21 September, 2012

Tall Claims

You become a chair. 
A dream sits in you 
for a graphic detail of 
pelvis. A trophy? 

Was it undecorous to present 
a cadaver walking on the earth? 
A serial killer wants a plaque 
on his grave after the verdict. 

Saber-rattling has started, 
unplucking the lovers of game. 
A peltate shield in hushed silence 
covers the undressing. 

The prisoner of words tempers with 
a mask to become a bruise.

Satish Verma

20 September, 2012


The doubters will cross the coals 
after the raid. 
Apology will not be in attendance. 

Sitting on the throne of 
cold blooded assassination, do you think 
justice demands the revenge? 

Whom you are killing, the body 
or the spirit? Heads will roll 
after debriefing. 

O my god, politics always 
enters the fray, when you are preparing 
a carpet of roses. 

Against the black moon 
a fast unto death 
by a virile sunblind?

Satish Verma

19 September, 2012


It was a fake time, 
moon will not rise. 

Words were afloat 
on junk dna. 

A stonefaced pseudonym 
dies point-blank. 

The surprise, the speed 
was not on our radar. 

The ravenous siblings 
now asleep on walls. 

Naive or disingenuous. 
A sitting Buddha will decide.

Satish Verma

17 September, 2012

A Killing

Buried at sea 
the dead man lives, as if a blood 
in a reliquary. 

Remains of a day 
were very volatile.The backlash 
will start with a kiss of moon. 

By the lack of a sin 
you meet an ambush 
lying in wait. 

The severed hand will 
hold the sunrise. 
Who will write the epitaph? 

A stunning breast, over your 
reflection, the red rains 
come for celebration.

Satish Verma

16 September, 2012


A golden bullet will bite 
the adolescence for the sake of 
prudence. Inebriated 
everybody wanted to go in a state of bliss. 

It was a targeted killing 
of a dream. Redolent of a prophet 
who will not answer the call 
of a burning dune. 

The holy moonless night will wash 
the sins of a city today. I am not 
going to meet the death tonight. 
I am the eye and I am the nude. 

Like truth on the other side of 
exhibits. Pure beak was ready 
to eat a virgin lie. Again we are 
sitting to solve the mystery of adultery.

Satish Verma

15 September, 2012


When night will not speak 
and shoes will float on the water; 
legs of truth will not move. 

Latched to absence 
unreasons held the hands of time. 
I stopped believing in myself. 

The genome had come in a bottle. 
when the virgin son was killed in a raid. 
The mausoleum will not accept the shroud. 

The priest will pay the moon, 
for the price of the nightly stings. 
Now the death will kill the clouds of bees. 

And the green door shuts the house 
of light. Moonlight has gone missing. 
We will have to find the lips of dark.

Satish Verma

14 September, 2012

Tornado Tornado

The buff flaunts his elements 
in a dissenting voice. 
Don’t go into the lake. 
There were no survivors. 

Stop kissing the moon 
all night. Clouds were moving 
away for the coronation 
of the sun. 

The windowpane was broken. 
Somebody has jumped into 
the audience for a 
golden drink. 

It was my abstract thought 
to donate my grief to 
unrelenting god who was always 
sending a twister with daffodils.

Satish Verma

13 September, 2012


Freezing was not required 
for the casket. It only contained 
a shroud. 

The schism had scored a 
victory. Bystanders will find 
a dark matter 

between the words. The god was 
very lonely today. The black wounds 
start crying. 

A white cloud climbs the eagle’s 
span. A golden moon walks like 
a big tear. 

A surge of greed will take over 
the yellow throne. Someone puts 
it, a spiritual horror.

Satish Verma

12 September, 2012


The descent starts 
with a dance, of tears and fire. 
A culture of lids 
lowers the salt, the silver, 
the gems. 
Antithesis to cremate 
a golden ascent. 

The night long vigil had a 
naked puff. 
It will roll now in stasis. 
The ash will take over the tongue 
for a big lie. Faith healers stand 
in a row. The empty hands 
were getting a burial. 

The toeless path will ride the 
wheels now. Beyond the blue sky 
there is no death.

Satish Verma

11 September, 2012


Drowned in unclogged arteries: 
I am going to release a swarm 
of bees. It was your dark hour. 
A father sits outside your body to collect the stings. 

A restive finger 
on a blue gun invites the ghosts 
to witness a burial of a fractured faith. 
Thieves were waiting in wings. 
A silent intimacy becomes invisible. 

Sit back and comb the house 
before it catches fire. 
The earth spins in your eyes when you 
pay the debt of a river; 
when we were kneading the mountain.

Satish Verma

10 September, 2012


Looking around for a loop of light, 
a captive throws out his 
trove of litter and ask for a 
right to be killed. 

This was question hour 
of your conscience. Who would 
now act as on executioner? 
Anybody who has not stolen a glance? 

You are standing alone with 
the rats.The hips were exploding. 
Owls will assemble later on 
to mourn the death of a native giant. 

Under a yellow moon I had met him 
once. He had promised to talk about 
sexual encounters with nameless 
ghosts under the waterfalls.

Satish Verma

09 September, 2012

Death Of A Godman

I have agreed to cede 
an unwritten moon 
in a killing frenzy, 
for a chequered spirituality. 

Now visitation will start 
ravishing the light at dawn. 
The grievers will assemble 
for a final scoop of dust. 

Forgive my star, 
for a failed touchdown. 
A child stands before glitterati 
born again to suffer the other sky. 

Nothing comes out of nothing. 
The circle was complete.

Satish Verma

08 September, 2012


What was about this face? 
Between mirage and actuality? 
A fireball was coming towards you. 
You upturn the underside, 
wanted to taste the blood 
and get argasm. 
The statues were posing nude. 

Mothers were clad in leaves. 
Fruits were the greed of man. 
I refuse to lie in state. The 
sand grains will find the innocence 
of silver breasts when sky will 
spat a murder. Were you ready 
now to become corrupt? 

At last the beginners are now 
becoming the boots.

Satish Verma

07 September, 2012


Sometimes the ice burns, 
a fish moves in your eyes. 

The ubiquity was at lowest level, 
nothing was visible in sun. 

Mission crawl in the crotch 
does not find any fever. 

The golden cave has caved in. 
Moon will find another sky. 

Nerves were green, pain was 
black. No mercy for hooks. 

Your map was here and my stitches. 
Let us see, who tells the lie.

Satish Verma

06 September, 2012


Living in a cyst, it 
would explore the breast. 
The black ethics goes beyond 
the bounds of mystique of 

A while away 
a conflict comes out of the body. 
Melts into a face. 
There is no flesh, no skin. 
Only transgression, holding my hands. 

There were no arguments. 
Only speech punctuated by silent sobs. 
A taper standing in a gale. 
The shadow flies like an arrow into 
the pitcher of hemlock.

Satish Verma

05 September, 2012


A tumbler climbs a rain 
in all crimelessness. 
Perhaps you will never know 
my invaginating self. The thirst has 
become a river. 

A pile of books and I cannot read. 
The shadow lengthens on the wall. 
An eagle melts in the air. 
They are shifting him for amputation. 
Truth cannot walk. 

I become my father tonight 
and watch the house burning. 
I am told there was lot of bleeding before. 
There will be no need to rescuscitate. 
The dead man says, why not?

Satish Verma

04 September, 2012


While drinking the long night 
you became taller than the eternal 
question, bitten by the moon. 

Witchhunting will not stop 
in oligarchy. A human right 
stands on the ivory gate to enter the dust. 

The weightlessness is paraded 
nude amongst the full-lipped 
follies of ornamental speech. 

The duende was lacking in palace. 
Rivals held the moonlight. 
Now the muse will become celibate. 

A giant mantis hops on a podium 
to bless the dying god, and the candle 
burns whole night.

Satish Verma

03 September, 2012


Do I have a choice 
before knifing the page 
for a meaning, when I was 
drowned in a nostalgia? 

Cinchona bark. This was my 
keyword for living bitterly 
under a tryant inciting 
the riots of colors. 

The digital death comes as 
a reward for insane truth. 
You turn the back on home 
and walk towards the sea – 

to count the empty shells on beach. 
Here life completes a cycle 
from emptiness to emptiness. 
You are ready to go in void. 

*On the death of Steve Jobs.

Satish Verma

02 September, 2012


Put off the lantern. 
I am waiting for the moon’s 
primal face. The lesser flamingoes 
were going to shed the pink color. 

Nude as a python, the kiss 
of pomegranates, kills by asphyxiation. 
I suffer in the hands of protests. 
The black ice now enters the eye of a needle. 

A barefoot noun feeds the junta. 
The butter babies will serve the poetry 
of poor on the mats of principles. 
I will remain unslept on straw. 

A newspaper eats the story this side. 
After the bloodbath surgeons weep. 
An armless lover hugs a priest 
for not calling the gods.

Satish Verma

01 September, 2012


A silence speaks up at ungreen 
age for an unknown, finding 
dark matter in hiddenness 
of sleazy light. 

A dove in the valley of tulips 
stops a flight for a wayfarer. 

What was that persisists, in envioronment and bunkers? 

Queen bee will decide for a spliced 
dawn of honeycomb in a bloodless coup. 

The stings were the torchbearers. 

A smile comes out with a walker. The 
vitals were dysfunctioning. 
The end does not need any comma.

Satish Verma