30 June, 2015

Listening To Yourself

Treading gently, trying
to feel close to the heat of
the cardinal sins, why
you were not able to take off
your eyes from the
macabre slaughter?

The unknowable instinct.
You abhore, but still want
to see the execution. They
were blindfolded and
were shot at the
back of head.

Decimated. You hold the
globes, making peace
with the wrongdoer.He
will not alter his ego
and why you were afraid to

Satish Verma

29 June, 2015

Cruel Bonhomie

Like a meteorite streaking
through the sky, iron
and nickel, for a proxy collision
with hidden destiny.

It was the post trauma
syndrome, after the great
divide of breast, lifting
the nipples.

The lofty peak crumbles.
There will be the scare
around, to grow the poppies
on the mounds again.

Are you ready now
for emasculation? The
legacy will, on its own, pass
onto alternative sins.

Satish Verma

28 June, 2015

Thinking Deeply About Something

The trail in mind, you had
a problem, before the coming of Him.

A quest, a a question, became
landmarks of the journey
in jungle of humanity.

The compatibility lost, you
have stopped looking at the
things with inward eye.

Is it necessary to give a title to every anguish?

The crisis throws up some detritus
of past, from where you had
taken up the wrong road.

The fixing magnifies your
scars. Do not go deep
in the veins.

I am your face.
I am your name.

Satish Verma

27 June, 2015

Pure As A Flame

Sleepwalking in unlit
night, grabbing the
moon, for a bite.

Very difficult to chew
the contradictions, to relieve
the heartache.

Endless drumming of
woodpecker to mark territory.
A war begins for insects.

It was the Adam’s instinct.
I will not fall on
the burning coals.

In a dewdrop you will
see a miniature tree,
shaping out for the sun.

Satish Verma

26 June, 2015


A fuzzy fear descends.
You become ensconced―
in the smell of a

The saltcutter will forego
the idiosyncrasy
and start collecting the oil
from the dome.

A stain on the shirt
spreads, covers
the heart in distress.
Codas were waiting.

Do not burn the book.
Go in a lily pond for a ―
script. The different shades
of flesh will be revealed.

The divine sin will ask
for a retribution for ―
the withdrawl syndrome.

Satish Verma

25 June, 2015

Soaked In Glory

The plunging line was―
going deeper, cutting close to
the bone. I was preparing
myself to be martyred

Prod me viciously, my
love, I want to die in your arms before
the dawn. It should be
too good to be true
for you.

Waterbirds. They are ready
to take a flight. Petal
by petal, sun will send you
the message. I am going to fade away
in moonlight.

Water hyacinth had the death secret.
Knife me gently. I will
meet my Apollo in dark.

Satish Verma

24 June, 2015

Along The Path

Encountering a dislocated self,
here it goes, the “I”,
flicking out the name
which will reach nowhere.

The foreword will not
disclose the contents of
the book. It was reading
only a footnote.

I place a searing moon
on your plate. You can take
a slice of it and gulp
your agony.

The arrival does not finish
the journey. There are far―
away worlds beyond
your fantasies.

Satish Verma

23 June, 2015

Left On The Dunes

Talking points at ground zero
trap the heat. The tyranny
knows no bounds.

Trauma of awaiting liberation
was intense. No truth was
ready to accept the bends.

I feel cheated when,
the dark gives a sermon about
the hidden dawn.

The hair burn in unmade
bed, taking a cue from
the beast, who will not sleep.

Where do the white stars
go, when the sun rises? I
will ask the crying lake.

Satish Verma

22 June, 2015


Scratching the rusted face
of the dust storm―
to read the message.

I have come very far,
from the old stinks.
It was not the escape.

The unshaped sap,
spills from the cut end―
of treetops. I gather your cones.

The fall begins abruptly.
It was a landslide of
leaf drop. Yellow and brown.

I wait for the red.
It reminds me of blood
dripping from your poem.

Satish Verma

21 June, 2015

Tones Of Beige

That obscene stare
aggravates the silicon
thrust. You become a victim
of an upheaval.

The white dwarfs have
invaded the blackboard.
You can get a glimpse
of unsolicited rape.

A cyanide capsule
hangs on your chest.
Will you commit a suicide
after an unnatural kill?

It takes a toll. The
abuse of the fingers.
Instead of writing a name
you print the cave.

Satish Verma

20 June, 2015

Walking Down The Lane

Time entombed, a negative
film, showing the
white bones of
a black moon.

I am surprised, how
a jungle of humanity, lives
with predators―

A lost genre will find
new syllables to start a
heliographic script to
make history.

There has to be some
reason, in the lamb days
to become a wolf.

Satish Verma

18 June, 2015

In The Labyrinth

The pungent smell of dry
smoldering leaves, greet you
when you cross the road.

The knower has become
unknowable and I start collecting
the pebbles, a remimder
of lost childhood.

Somebody has kidnapped the
art of the nocturne. The
songbird will never find the moon.

When you are under attack
you run faster,
to drink the speed of dust.

It was a case of intimidation.
Invisible ghosts were demanding
their bricks of gold.

Satish Verma

17 June, 2015

The Warts

Like a wax moth, me―
sensing your footsteps
from a mile.


The half-truths
were always baked in milk
to look white.


The cleric was
jubilant. God has decided
not to live any more.

Satish Verma

16 June, 2015

What Times

The upbeat moon
becomes dazed, when you
start, the dance of death.

Personified, lone word,
unloved; changes the

Given space, a sick
crowd, expands, unsquares,
for the throne.

The abysm from which
the cicadas are crawling out
to devour our being.

I do not want to
control you, your song.
I am burning in my own holocaust.

Satish Verma

15 June, 2015

Your Voice

There was a sharp rise
of indecent things. On the
rocks you left my name
without flowers.

Make a heap of all
the gifts of life and griefs and
start a bonfire. No message
is going to come.

Let us live in separate bowls
of soup. Time had swept
them clean for a murder.

One day the alien god will
alight from the sins,
to alter the numbers.

The mudslide of untruths
will scupper your house
made of paper and pen.

Satish Verma

14 June, 2015

Fermenting Mind

A desire spews the rocks.
Between two moments
lies my body.

Learning the first alphabet
of violence. I fail myself
in the lily pond.

Statues and inscriptions
were me. I had become
the god of doubts.

A disembodied faith
overtakes my senses,
I float between the words.

The humming
starts from a formless bee.
The everpresent honey drips.

Satish Verma

13 June, 2015


Hiding from each other
your prosperity.
I wanted to remain a fakir.


This was the faith
in its truest sense. I wanted
to live in childhood paucity.


Like the first letter
I wrote to you, I am
sending you a poem.

Satish Verma

12 June, 2015


After tasting the homemade
poison, the walls,
start moving.
The poppies are in bloom.
I am not interested in morphine
or codeine. A sago palm has
come of age, preparing to
put up the conical sex.
A trust deficit will not know,
the signature of veneer, of
the gender.

Something moves behind the
bushes. I was already afraid
of emptiness. After the violence,
amputations and barrenness.
The desert invades my bones.
Cannot sleep with hands
on my chest. Will you
collect some runners?
I want to raise
the grass for the sake of commanality.

Satish Verma

11 June, 2015


The nephrite syndrome.
I will not change the―
calculus, to find the truth
of the flesh.

The paid price of chemistry
will make history. If
you can stop the blitz―
of the replicas.

It ends like a fire, without
ashes. The limbs check
the fall. Across the river
an isle erupts.

The prisoner at last escapes,
from the procession of profanities.
You are finally liberated,
releasing the lost poem.

Satish Verma

10 June, 2015

Head And Torso

Nothing-ness fills me
again. Once visiting a funeral
home, a child asked me,
why do the people die?

How do I explain the dark
side of life? A blunt trauma,
makes me jaded. One collapsing
process creates the black hole.

A nude, the tall figure, stands
on the rock, much venerated,
and you cannot take off the
eyes, deciphering the skin.

In the intense pain of―
learning, a fantasy of
looking out at a ghost deity
in the vegetable, springs a miracle.

Satish Verma

09 June, 2015

Some Glimpses

Moon rose from
obscurity, once I released
the fury of darkness.


Do not want to
repeat; why my song was
stolen by flight of birds.


The negativity of
the penknife. Always tearing
away the heart.

Satish Verma

07 June, 2015

An Opening

I will color
the sky, grieving for the
departed moon.


Tossing my words
onto the lake, to bring back
my baby pink.


Night I had woven
a gold pattern on the bed.
Memory will know.

Satish Verma

06 June, 2015

It Never Happened

I was not afraid of legacy
seeking out a collateral
collapse of a fantasy.

Raising the ante―
I was prepared to meet
the unknown in your chest.

What came as a surprise
in a white boat. I will
never know of death.

A pause, a stutter,
sacrificing civility to open
the door of the poor syllables.

The secret will go in―
the grave along with
the famished poet.

Satish Verma

03 June, 2015


Come to me
like never ending pain.
I will wait till eternity.


Wing pierced, like
butterfly amidst cacti,
still trying to reach your lips.


I carry the fragrance
of fallen jessimines on grass,
white as the morning snow.

Satish Verma