30 November, 2013


The particles,
spreading a weird cult.
You were colliding with moons

It was a bird call
under a gilded, cold, dark
sky. The desire was immense
than the meet.

You just wanted to feel
the hurt; flaunting an
erosion. A coherently large
body. Is that a mass-

of goddammed invisible?
It was my harvested pain,
the lost virginity of a
spot. The exit war starts

for a gentle colossus.

Satish Verma

29 November, 2013

Virtuous or Vicious

No words,
no thoughts,
remained unkissed, unwed
by a shapeless white death.
Still under the spell,
I squatter before the moon,
peeling off, to receive
the ultimate.

I am trying,
to find the roots,
of unknown.
Breaking protocol, for a
moron liability, unclouding
the dark sky. It was homecoming
of a Michelangelo to repeat
the performance.

I want to write
a dirty poem

Satish Verma

28 November, 2013

In Private

A bruise-
opens up again.
Why you did not know,
how to stop, in the blue night,
under the shadow of
god particles?

A glimpse-
of the naked form;
the size, the shape,
unsettles the script, the committed
dogma. Why you were still
unvisible, O glory?

of the beliefs.
Life becomes a peddeler.
I don’t want to go to any bazaar
now. A poem is good enough
to move on.

Satish Verma

27 November, 2013

False Boundaries

I again went for the goldfish.

One day I took you, in the
night sky, rubbing on the
sea, under an ebony moon.

The roasted munching in
fabricated letters for
the orgiastic drill.

Why one always becomes
sadistic in self- torture,
the drifting among tombs-

of broken words, in our
maligned ink? The clear
path suddenly becomes invisible.

I again hear the sobbing of
a trembling ghost of past.

Satish Verma

False Boundaries

I again went for the goldfish.

One day I took you, in the
night sky, rubbing on the
sea, under an ebony moon.

The roasted munching in
fabricated letters for
the orgiastic drill.

Why one always becomes
sadistic in self- torture,
the drifting among tombs-

of broken words, in our
maligned ink? The clear
path suddenly becomes invisible.

I again hear the sobbing of
a trembling ghost of past.

Satish Verma

26 November, 2013


It went through me
the hot day;
vaulting back.
at night.
To hustle the poetry things.

Weary of the luminous
dials. I want to
think in dark.


The bookcase was empty.
Croaking words
had departed for
greener pastures.

Hold on.
I am coming to
defuse the grenades.

Satish Verma

25 November, 2013

Mnı Poems

The maligned,
bloody moon,
will never show
the darkside.

human nature,
a theorem,


The fiction
was incomplete.
The end,
was unending.

the punctuation.


amnesic stance.
I wanted to stitch
The fragmented past.

The tainted
weeds, will not
allow the phrase
to complete.


Was there any
need to catch
the essence of physical?

The words were
sufficient to hurt
the unborn.

Satish Verma

24 November, 2013

Splitting the night

Pillage started,
when there were anti-answers.
The trapped light-

wanted to be
from brutalism.

When you were
nearly drowned,
in the multitude of questions,

joining the palms,
you collect the moments
of solitude.

You drop a key
in the ocean.
Its imprint swims

to the other side of shore.
You felt lonely
stars said, it is time for us to leave.

Satish Verma

23 November, 2013

Paper Thin

Tearing up,
the revised versions.
Wall was rising.

like the unconceived

Half-eaten space,
the man wants to
hide the holiness.

The final leap,
for the hips, the lips
for the dive.

The bloodied
paperweight, which smasthed
the skull of a bald deity.

The arguments, that
kill the path, a
gift of sky.

Satish Verma

22 November, 2013

Buying Time

Nibbling at a piece of moon
I lost the zero line
of my violence
mapping the lone

The waning light
flaunting the peaks
for docking
the missile
in dark.

The body of water,
prior to the tempest,
will invite the brown
creator to pull
the ropes.

The past reappears,
shows presence.
I search word anchors
to reach

Satish Verma

21 November, 2013


The window was closing.
Whole life went by,
to understand oneself,
trying to find the true meanings of words,
using myself as a bait.

To read or not to read the unwritten,
blank page. A dot
a dash, a comma, parenthesis.
They were trying to find
the signature pains.

A green rust starts burying
the crumbling wall. The cognitive
climb gets a setback. Suddenly
the peeling off starts, of makeup.
You stand naked.

Satish Verma

20 November, 2013

Dust Will Laugh

Romancing Neptune
had an
amorous wish.
The body is water.
Take it,
split it,
and then become a doormat.

Blocking the fiesta,
a ghost brings in
storm, in a glass.
Will you drink the moon
in night?

The street now walks in,
taking a call to kill the shades,
of wrinkles. You forgot
your name and move
gingerly from post to post
lightening the lamps.

Satish Verma

18 November, 2013


Can you enlarge the moment,
when the time stopped and
you were trying to get a
glimpse of beyond?

You become a no-moment, a
no-truth, in a sauteed

And someone plucks a death
from your poems to
resuscitate you, draped
in tears.

The track record will show,
you were only yourself,
and never became a riddle.

Let go of me. It was only
a happening, undoing the
play, held in dark. As I
cross the door, you become invisible.

Satish Verma

17 November, 2013


The dichotomy was complete.
I walk in your tears
to move away.

The night smelt like a
burnt-out doll, and I was
quaking inside like a peony lip.

The sunk baby. You stay
uncovered in half-sleep.
The drag of the noose around-

your neck was evident. I
want to squeeze the pods.
Why did not the pollen meet-

the stigma? The needles are
coming out of the eyes. A prose
is gone. The poem walks in.

Satish Verma

16 November, 2013

Life Moves On

You make me give up too easily
without a fight. I will not
ask any questions.

The elite mercy you are
endowed with, green eyes,
invite me for a daunting embrace.

It cracked under the chariot
on runway. The wings scattered,
I will not be able to fly now.

One day, I gave you my dagger
to put it my heart.
You had tied my hands for real.

Overreached by words of
mouth, a quill becomes a
pen, waiting about carnage.

Satish Verma

15 November, 2013


From a homemade
golden pen you went on
the young erotica.
It was a moment of
the funeral, plodding
through the extinct memories
of misadventures.
Time had stood still
on the sea of faces.
The great wall of frozen
dreams brings a chill
in blazing sun of enigma.

A bridge becomes a
derived fossil!

Satish Verma

14 November, 2013

New Genre

That elusive answer
which ricocheted to land
in a bush, throws you in tizzy.
Are you sure, you want
to hurl more questions?

This was a qualified Higg’s
boson, which bowed out
from the race of God’s creation
to become invisible.

A gecko climbs on the wall
shutting the soul. The huge crowd
was pushing the chariot, addressing
the shadows behind the glass. The
featureless becomes untouchable.

A moon beam glides on the carpet.
Priest will go to sleep.

Satish Verma

13 November, 2013

The Woods Are Burning

Removing the husk
I want you to find the grain;
become yourself.

The space between thoughts
must increase.
I am trying to widen -

the scope of death. Something
was alive in shadows.
The fiction was rising.

Dust and clouds will blast
together. I want to meet
the snowcapped peaks of sadness-

which brings the human-
face of flesh eaters. No bones
were left to fight for.

Satish Verma

12 November, 2013

Rugged Frontiers

The sun beats mercilessly.
A coastline invites the violence
of the great lake.

A sinking feeling of a boat. The battle
of tides and limbs. You can see
the colors, the dragons
flying. The blasted sky
and blackened clouds. A shriek
sets the lake on fire, as the dusk sets in.

A tribal instinct to burn
the fences, set the horizons
free for a new comet, landing from
unknown space. You want to touch
the lips of a mute, blotted moon.

Fireflies start dotting the night.
You move inward; find a dark
niche to graze the wounds. The hurt
brings the words. You pick up an
axe and start chopping
the dead wood.

Satish Verma

The Signs

This music was insane.
Do not pluck the wounded apples
of conjugal extraction.

The volatility was increasing.
Shades of blue were
sharpening. The intrusive moon

will decide the fate of
fossilized fracture. The death
came by the back door.

The rough edges are to
be smothered, after a back
encounter. The saint was ready.

The anxiety overwhelms. You
try to find a small window
to bring in the song bird.

Satish Verma

10 November, 2013

Empty Dreams

After the civil war in temples
a wodden god
with broken nose, was walking
with a stick.

Half-way to home
he wanted to turn back
and meet his shadow
in the lake.

A mountain goat climbs
down the rocks to become
a martyr. Leaps into a dark
stream clinging to the veil.

A blue pine takes a bath
in the summer rain. A
midnight moon will call the spirits
to dance for gamblers.

Satish Verma

09 November, 2013

In Totality

The riot was within.
Not getting along with social
revolution you would lie
on purple patch without seeking
any privy.

Who were the barbarians
which were going to release
the brutal pattern of bloodshed
during sunset on
the lake?

A mistrial will dispatch
the violence and you will drop
dead on the dirt path leading
to bed of roses. A theme will
wait for the signing of the book.

Someone punched you in solar
plexus. You said, I don't
die daily to live.

Satish Verma

08 November, 2013


The silence of the road
intends to pause the observer's speed.
Unchanged continuity
had a cubic quality.

Presenting yourself to lick salt
before molestation.
The sanctity
stands violated.

The horror thing looms
large, neatly dressed
dancing in your boots.
The path ends at a tree.

You misprint the name
of a tormentor.
Man becomes a beast
in a love triangle.

Satish Verma

07 November, 2013


You miss the words and numbers.
The gameplan gets ascention. The
podium was high.
And so was your head.

Swallowed by the winds
unable to reach the end of journey.
Were you not thinking?
Was it a treason to withdraw –

from the frills? In love scare
there were other things to do,
in the storm,
like collecting the thorns.

You step outside the dark and
feel the limbs of light,
altering the script to become
a miracle.

Satish Verma

06 November, 2013


The padded words
perdured the fall of factuality
into the gaping maw of untruth.

The barriers start
crumbling for stilts
but the alley leads to a jungle of tales.

The manipulation walks
on the frozen lake of eyes.
Blue shadows move underneath to-

find the door. You spend
whole life to locate the dock.
The old sea and man drift in dark.

Only a seagull flies
in morning fog to trace
the sun, halted in clouds.

Satish Verma

05 November, 2013


Dusting a rose
dissecting a heart. There was wilder-
ness in the woods.

I cannot touch you
O, wood sage
you were so ephemeral.

Your hands were
knitting a bright wound in the air.
Where was the moon?

Not a kiss,
the prodigal sun
wants a death wish of a canary.

The snow on the
eyes. I wished I had
met you earlier.

Satish Verma

04 November, 2013


Building your space,
you were dying daily
invading the acoustics.

How the continence
was going to help-
living with scars of explosions?

Mutating into a full-fledged
saintliners, an inner conflict
becomes a profile.

Crawling to a stone
a crayon draws a cell
without incendiary rhetoric?

Decoding an icon
becomes a daily ritual. From
where will come the write?

Satish Verma

03 November, 2013

Smoking The Mirror

Talking to bougainvilleas,
one day I will cut my tongue.
Why the beautiful bracts were
protecting the trivial seeds?

The flowers started clicking
to deliver a white god to a black
temple. Human shield was to
avenge the enemy beyond the infinity.

Below the ashes what were you
trying to find out in dark?
The cancer? It was eating away
the vitals of an orphaned fruit.

The predator had become the
prey, drawing the sheet of
blood on the moon. The birds
were leaving the tree.

Satish Verma

02 November, 2013


A hundred pounds bite.
It was a matter of faith
with copperhead.

A maddening silence
dodging the window,
where the moon sits.

The peril will always stay
reneging, of the big space
for next victim.

Quaint feeling persists.
Of shearing the clouds
to knit a bright Venus.

The eventual escape.
To be the name
on a bloodied sword.

Satish Verma

01 November, 2013


Listening to a gleaming
word whole life
and finding its meaning at
the fag end.
And you are in thrall
to a sinful pleasure.

The yearnings
of a small Pteris,
which drinks arsenic daily
to rescue a withering smile.

A poem sings to me
under a lantern, when a
storm was raging to roil
the blue birds of imploring peaks.

It looks into your eyes
to find the answer
of complete shutdown
of cotton feel.

Satish Verma