31 October, 2013


It was not your body,
but blood was on the wall.

Inhale the stench of the day.
Grim scene, the multiple kisses
of marrow and flesh. You were
not drawing him, inviting-

him tonight for a date,
but the fetch was on the wall.

From, to turn. Put a starfish
in my bowl, to play. There was
a guest waiting at the door. Will
not abuse your lock and key.

Crawling, groping, darkness descends.
But there was a light on the wall.

Satish Verma

29 October, 2013

The Iron Gate

Do not remember the names.
Somebody is waiting in the wings.

It is very dark here. The drums
will break the mother's heart.

The death will not accept the
dew on the grass. She wants tears;

The Buddha is taking a turn
in his sleep. Why is he so restless?

O, my father, I am watching the
fields turning into piles of ash.

Cannot shut the eyes for a jiffy.
Will you write something for the god?

Satish Verma

28 October, 2013


Why did your hand
become the fist?
You were thinking about the indignities
heaped upon the lake,
when you were retrieving a song
of freedom from the depth of questions.

There was no capitulation.
You went on opening the congealed-
blobs of blood to know
the keynote of violence.

The sectarian hate.
It outlives the love of brotherhood.
You want to go back to, from where
the jungle starts. It had swept
away the snow-white young

Footprints of some movement.
Can you see that?

Satish Verma

27 October, 2013

At Precipice

There was soft
purring. Inviting but malicious,
when you entered the cave.

A bittersweet encounter.
Quantified. A new dna print
after a cyber attack.

Another turn of the Venus.
The whole world
has never been the same.

Anatomy of violence
was shaping the
future bytes noires.

Stupid thing, our roots
still commingled with dust
searching the stone-deaf god.

Satish Verma

26 October, 2013


The arch
in the targeted killing
was the bet when you
lost your virginity.

A slow dance
at the cold river of flesh,
with genitalia wiped off.
I was constructing-

your genome
from you saliva. Prayer
was a form of begging
before an unpardonable sin.

The gradient
parting the hills will
find another arena
to start the game.

Satish Verma

25 October, 2013


Picking a lock you break
a bloodline. A stargazer
maps the astrological signs
and connects with the
moon in oviduct:

There were no foeticide qualms,
in rappelling to shamanic healing.
It was not a deference for any
deity. A ritual
gives you
name, gives
you fame.

Wearing a wooden sandal which
keeps you electrified with
divinity. This is ambulatory.
You move on the green earth
squashing the grass,
beating the

Satish Verma

24 October, 2013


Traversing atopia
I am touching your belly button,
to find the remains
of ancient connectivity.

Was that good-
asking for a nasal approach
to the golden incense
of a sleeping Buddha?

The faith crumbles at
the feet of a groping figure.
A falcon tears away the pink
globe, drinking the falling nectar.

Unzipped, a Venus now opens
the secret of a murder. The
dismembered parts were strewn
around over the surface of moon.

Satish Verma

23 October, 2013


Holding the thought before it
is born. Let the void become
pregenant first-
and it starts raining.

It was a serene melting
point, when I accepted the price
of giving away. I will not
take any mantra, any hand.

A perfect blending with
unknown; to put back the
sea in a bowl. Even the cloud
will enter into a blade of grass.

No faith. No ritual. I believe
in roving dust, which makes
the stars, the blaze, and
the brilliant light.

Satish Verma

22 October, 2013


Talking of morality abuse
and implanting of false truth,
words stammer.

A fiery birth after
the mist. I intend to collect
the dark energy of beyond.

A pillow dance waits
for the inevitable death.
Only one eye will see the moon.

You bend back,
open the eyes thirstily.
Let Venus unwrap the breast-

and start swimming
in gunmetal sky for the final
journey of delinquent mind.

Satish Verma

21 October, 2013


In transit of soul,
when you were under siege,
you got a new number for afterlife
wearing a white robe-

and could see right through
your past picking up the
lips from the despair
of ancient dream.

Will you catch the honeydew
dripping from the eternal tree
of life? Have you seen night-
blooming flames gouging-

the intrigues from the black
walls? There has been a deepening
sense of despair. The venus is
ready to unrobe in full glare of sun.

Satish Verma

19 October, 2013


It was middle noon
on the deserted street.
Nobody will come out
to greet the sun.

You will lift the fallen leaves
to soften the blow,
corrupting the morality
crouching in the shadow.

A slumber was needed
to get the head shaven.
Touching the dust,
the heat, the winds.

Dig a sinking hole
deep in the heart.
It will suck all your tears
all your salt.

Satish Verma

18 October, 2013


you rip the smile off,
from the face of a sleeping Buddha.

It was time
to start digging a weeping
hole in the grave of an ancient-
god who would not wake up
after you found blood on the knife.

What was your mandate
after finding the turmoil
in the tunnel for light?

The life sentence passed on
to vultures will give the
corpse a chance to live.

On one side were the angles
developing the spatial memory.
On other side you were
sitting in a cage.

Satish Verma

17 October, 2013


It was like homecoming of
timber rattle snake.
A bit jarring.

Signs were acquitted,
when the summer becomes
sensuous at dusk.

I start collecting the colors
from sky. The night was
moving behind the moon-

like a concubine, in black
skirt. Amidst the gray clouds
a green man was laughing.

The death's translation
was simple. Nobody will
attend the funeral of sun.

Satish Verma

16 October, 2013


A fast in hurry. you
pretend that you
were dead.

The legend survives,
putting the land's blood
in the grass roots.

The tremors had started
in the blue flame. A lunatic
calls for the moon to explain.

The tides were not coming?
Watching hopelessly;
the decline of sinkers.

A watershed of humility.
The river has left the
body of water.

Satish Verma

15 October, 2013


It was getting dark.
The silence starts speaking
to me in a whisper
for the sake of secrecy.

Right now,
the violence will start
between the summer night
and a brilliant moon.
I sit in a corner
to watch the milk spilling.

And then, after couple of hours
an anonymous call from
a cuckoo in distress. Somewhere
a dry twig snaps off. Something
is tossed in air. A shadow pokes
at moon to return the favour.

The dawn, drops the veil!

Satish Verma

14 October, 2013


Sitting on the hill,
nestled against the moon,
talking to stars.

You love a woodpecker.
What a stupid thing.
A panther dies of thirst.

A tall fern unfurls
the frond, to catch
a crested iguana.

In deep blue water
seventeen summers
drowned, in one go.

A sapsucker goes
on, making holes,
in my psyche.

A tree will wait
for the summer to end.
Then it will tow the rain.

Satish Verma

13 October, 2013


Fixing the dignity
like a fabulous sarcophagus
you are unsparing in your generosity.

You left one window open
for the saint of wax
to let in the light.

Keeping him alive for -
a fake functionality
to run the community.

There was a long queue
of people to offer the wooden roses
before the wound heals.

Who was eternal in this
vanishing universe? Do-
not stop me of if I start bleeding.

Satish Verma

12 October, 2013


A repressed scream.
Someone breaks the head.
I was hitting the wall.

The rape hurts.
Withers away the dam.
River was changing the course.

It was very pompous;
the benign torture. No
more I belong to this world.

And the dilapidated
houseboat floats on the lake
to collect the immersed-

bones of ancesters. A
door opens. The poem prints
the pain of centuries.

Satish Verma

11 October, 2013


Do not give credence
to mundanity. An iconic
black night was getting ready
to welcome Venus.

A storm was raging inside,
vandalizing the secrets of the house,
uprooting the doors and windows.
The whole life was at stake.

Shrinking the head of foes,
you start eating the live insects.
But the truth was escaping
from your lips.

My poem drop the seeds,
for the unborn children of violence.
I dedicate a book for the other me,
as I near the crossroads of uncertainty.

Satish Verma

10 October, 2013


Those migratory storks,
will not come
this year.
The lake was burning.

The secret kill
of the wringer
was metastasizing.
Make the tether-

small for the macabre
end. I am not yet
frozen. The stalker

will not leave the
flame. Outside a tribute
was ready for
an uprooted tree.

My shadow moves ahead
to catch a cage bird,
in the parrot green sky.

Satish Verma

09 October, 2013


Trending the nude prints,
life had been dismissive,
plucking the gray hairs from brows.

Manipulating the dopamine
the body's odour
wafted through the cluttering limbs.

Charcoal underlines the
need of a wounded dove.
What else one needs from grain and water.

The tears will sew the lids
one day. I don't want
to churn the sea again.

The dogfish comes on the
shores for a rebuttal.
It had never led a dog's life.

Satish Verma

08 October, 2013

Unsinking In Depth

You are not
on my page.
No more in my abstract sleep.

will not be declared-
in the realm of dark dreams.

There was
one tear at a time.
No battle cry.

Trampling on
the old reminiscences,
a tiger jumps on the author-

of mangrove.
The aerial roots have
stopped breathing.

Your lungs become
a flute. A war song frightens
the death.

Satish Verma

07 October, 2013


on the celestial pole,
did you come
for a lethal kiss?

in vacuity,
do you find some depth
in the black hole?

The wheels
move on stolen track
of an epic. You come back
to a dead sea-

for a swim. What looked pink
was not a flamingo
with a bent bill
held upside down.

Satish Verma

06 October, 2013

In retrospect

In a moon city
will you distill
the darkness for a hallucinatory effect?
Without wearing anything?

Polarizing the sex
with the leaky pomegranates,
vying for control of towers.
Will it be unrespectful,
moon hitting the sun, when
it was departing?

It was a lucrative business
to trade envies with luck
or qualities. I feel connecting
with the violence of brown pillars.

Playing with smoke
you start undressing in epithets.
A bumblebee
raises the sights on rooftops.

Satish Verma

05 October, 2013

Throwing Down The Gauntlet

Crossing the burning barriers,
you take a fatal jump.
Brazenly, but giving little away.

Long shadows of ethnic clouds
were eroding the sun. Feeling the
wet lips you rub you sweaty
palms in vain.

Haunted, you would like to
kill the ghosts. You pull a silken
cord. A silver urn upturns the
ashes of your past.

Each truth walks without legs.
You are still incomplete. The
self-portrait will never hang
on the wall.

Satish Verma

04 October, 2013


The show must go on.
Under a sable cloud.
I am on the vast stage
to perform.

Tall cacti and harsh
dunes will not find
a sweet acacia.

When I am hungry
I would like to write something
very personal on a yellow paper.

The potter's wheel will not
move today.
The potter had turned into clay.

Satish Verma

03 October, 2013


A gasping confession
of a pubescent fault.

Why did you enter the bed
of a molten lava?

Wisdom was in silent eyes
not on the lips of a blackened rose.

The water was white and cool
the sun was red and hot.

A mirror will never tell the truth.
Bleached was the face of moon.

One night I will be killed
in the hands of a benevolent foe.

Satish Verma


A gasping confession
of a pubescent fault.

Why did you enter the bed
of a molten lava?

Wisdom was in silent eyes
not on the lips of a blackened rose.

The water was white and cool
the sun was red and hot.

A mirror will never tell the truth.
Bleached was the face of moon.

One night I will be killed
in the hands of a benevolent foe.

Satish Verma


A gasping confession
of a pubescent fault.

Why did you enter the bed
of a molten lava?

Wisdom was in silent eyes
not on the lips of a blackened rose.

The water was white and cool
the sun was red and hot.

A mirror will never tell the truth.
Bleached was the face of moon.

One night I will be killed
in the hands of a benevolent foe.

Satish Verma

02 October, 2013


The crisis starts boiling
about the invisible foes.
The contraptions hope to recapture
the moods.

Harsh, arrogant and ritualistic.
In the stark nudity of silence
a wooden Buddha lies on the
floor crying.

" I am not happy, I am not happy.
Why were you still a virgin? "
White butterflies will not sit
on jasmines to lose their script.

There was a black moon to chase
the fugitive. There will be no midnight
sun. Between lips and cups
the grey fox had lighted a lamp.

Satish Verma

01 October, 2013


It in now dark.
Talking of exposed genitalia
I go into a terrible shock.

A compulsive deceit
takes hold of the attention.
The candle burns me inside.

Between eyes
a *chakra uncoils, like a Naja.
Strikes! You are stricken-

with a bulbar palsy.
No haemorrhage. A purple venom
spreads in the whole nativism.

Voices move in half-lit corridor.
The doors do not lead to rooms.
All exits disappear.

A chandelier crashes. You
are awakened from a deep slumber.
A poem is born.

Satish Verma