30 September, 2015

No Love Song

In black midnight,
the white moon, like a nun
sits stonely.

The sliding moon is toxic
and you are not ready to
die for the theme.

The high priests will
weave the faux mantras to
invoke the goddess of wealth.

The debt pervades in every
relief. I survive the ignominy
of not touching a yogi.

And you, little brown bread,
will not feed the thousands
who come clamouring for a bite.

Satish Verma

29 September, 2015

After The Snow Storm

It tumbles down. The real.
Heels start hurting.

Once upon a night, there
was a red moon, which used to hang
on your head and I
would watch something beyond.

No outburst of profanity
will take place, when you were
dissecting a triangle―

of rainbows. I will not
assemble the waist of a tall tree
after the fruit fall.

Gone with the snow, my
temple, my god. I am now
waiting for the looters of rings.

Satish Verma

28 September, 2015

I Am Not Afraid

There was a road to landslips.
Why would the mountain break
for consanguinity?

You had spurned the hovering
clouds altering the means
of communication―

by adopting the lightning
for jousting with new gods.
As the thin cobweb flies before the eyes―

I go for insomnia to talk
with invisible in dark. In
moment’s lapse I become grey.

A life’s learning makes a
fool of me, hurting myself
in moonlight. The

abandonment brings fear
of me. I am ready to go
to a sheepeater carnivore and lie still.

Satish Verma

27 September, 2015

Sheared Off

How much you were honest
with you?
The poems had singed
the eyebrows. I am filled
with salt.

Would you know what was
missing between the lines?
Afterlife will not bother me.
My image and me
will not superimpose.

An apology for extradition
of my agony. Trapped, my
mirror has broken. I
will tear off the moon
from the window, when the room
is dark.

Satish Verma

26 September, 2015


How much you can carry,
carving a deep gorge
during last rites
of a river?

It was a skunky remain
of the civilized terrain
gone berserk.

Oh pilgrim, don’t come
again to wash your feet
in the snow of
painted storks.

Hiding behind the tattoos
my raw galaxy perspires
climbing the graveyard
of old songs.

Satish Verma

25 September, 2015

A Sombre Moon

This is for the
smaller gods sitting
in rains, seeking asylum in

Nobody knows the
fate of sunken erotica
when the glacier

A wild rose
sends the thorns to
prick your conscience.
Let the death walk
in sleep.

Satish Verma

24 September, 2015


A visible evil stands
upright. I did not want to
die before the death.

My needs were small and few
but I am at peace, breaking
water without shaming the earth.

I will now make a moon
out of the mystery of mass cremation
of rose buds.

The small recess of the soul
mends the wall of the flesh to become
a stable house.

The black crypt, maintains
a secret. Here lived a wounded
soldier once upon a time.

Satish Verma

23 September, 2015


Stargazing will not stop.
The will to find the answer,
when the glacier breaks.

You bring the god down
to earth. Don’t want to
bother any door.

A pair of fetters fastened
around my ankles.
I hop to the house of sadness.

The auroral spark
ignites the leaker. Clouds
burst crimson with tears.

A ring of red stones were
markers. Here fell the divine

Satish Verma

21 September, 2015


A boulder on my neck.
I am climbing your
house, O god.

I don’t believe you.
I trust the man,
a committed trespasser.

A crestfallen humanity
walking endlessly in―
the valley of tears,

to find the clean water,
the bread and roof. The
anguish breaks the morals.

And our painted deities,
resting on their thrones to
see the vultures descending.

Satish Verma

20 September, 2015


Moving on death trek,
standing near the stonehenge,
the hunger for immortality
begins to kill.

The summer solstice is there.
It could hinge on the bones.
Sometimes it takes all your life
to know what do you want?

Somatic. The flesh refuses to
go down on the divine path.
The urge was very strong
to go hegemonic.

Blue stones, walk with pagans
and druids were coming back.
I am not sure whom do I believe
I start an inward odyssey again.

Satish Verma

19 September, 2015


Waiting for a supermoon
like Aphrodite.
I translate my twinge
into moonlight.

The speed now hurts.
I want to go slow in dark,
Like wayward feet ambulating towards a carnivore.

It was not fair to call for
the soft snow,
when my eyes start
surging like a natural spring.

You had almost eaten me
alive with black fingers.
I did not sin, you come like
thunder making me deaf.

Satish Verma

18 September, 2015

Walking Small Feet

Distrust prevails.
To be poor. Why did you need
less, than you want?

I will ask me, and get no
answer. Like hedgehog. Spiny
coat. You will not watch―

the thought coming. I do
not move. The dead horse
speaks of moments of stillness.

A perception cleaves the mind.
The world takes revenge
behind the glass. You were―

squirming in the vessel. What
was your name, among the
stumps? A cloudburst, wipes

out the deity. The walls
stand out in the death masks.

Satish Verma

17 September, 2015

A Noble Life

Taking the drugs in heavenly
night. It is very precarious state
to live innocently.

The petals fall on your brows.
You are not ready to meet the stigma.
Pistil was wary of the human touch.

Neoplastic. I wanted a botanical
end. Like evening primrose, a
yellow death facing the sun.

The opal effect. You were changing
colors. A precious sin to become
a saint. Who is going to be a scapegoat?

The bankruptcy. Uncertainty will
overwhelm the haze. Stay indoors.
You will not be able to make a speech.

Satish Verma

15 September, 2015

Sailing On Peaks

The blue veins,
defending brazenly
the pink gloves.

Unwedded to moon,
I become sick
of hypocricy of hands.

As the boulders slide
on chest, to unbring the infancy
of snowfall. I put my shovel down.

Was it too early to start
the game pf ravishing
the temple of stains?

Looking at the pillars
that would not hold the
ceiling, inviting the moment’s eternity.

Satish Verma

14 September, 2015


This city of musketeers.
You are always having a bruising―
encounter with yourself.
Everyone tries to find an exit plan,

when the house in on fire,
and the abstract signs go on display.

I think you should not
have organized the religion,
the book, the sermons.

I have lost the way to me,
to my aloneness, to my emptiness.

The economy of words was
in ruins. There was no space
to stand on the sense, import.

A chilling meet begins between
the sparring wheels.

Satish Verma

13 September, 2015

Battered Faith

Deserting a shrine, in the swirling
waters, I move, unbuilding
a path, under the shade of the moon. the
sprawling village has been swept off/and
so were the ponyriders;
a lifeless symphony of howling winds/
scatters the silence.

I step forward to meet the vapors
of after death./The souls are dead/
and the ghosts are walking in dark.
No ignition was left to recognize the faces.
No god was seen nearby.

I am at loss to make the return journey.
A boulder as big as the temple/
obstructs the view. There are moaning
voices/coming from under the sunk
houses. Why won’t the unseen hands/build
up a bridge. I eat your words
and go in trance.

Where are the bottle’s jinnees now?

Satish Verma

12 September, 2015


A dark secret
of double standard,
releases the hidden forces.

You must
bend backward to walk.
This was the rape of surrender.

The art of dodging,
the decoy effect.
You choose the ultimate hypocrisy.

You do not confirm
the rage of shirtless.
A name goes begging for the figures.

Shrine in mud,
will give you a final call
before starting the builddown.

Satish Verma

11 September, 2015

Returning Your Message

Don’t let me go.
over the cork, a bottle
fights for the fluids
to flow out.

No apology to
feel you. There was
no death in the night.
A sun lies down beside me.

The flesh was disappearing.
A blue star alights,
to make a landmark
for the climbers.

No regrets
for the crunch of dry leaves
when you walk on the
grave of the witch doctor.

Satish Verma

10 September, 2015


Since my ash has
blown in your mirror
I am warming up to your surrogacy.

Too much deep,
expansive cleavage. I am climbing

down a canyon.

The phoenix:
finds the water―
in your eyes.

Writes a funeral.

No punctuation, the
unwritten poet,
will not last the night.

I am spelling out
the grief of the lonely man on
the deserted road, talking

Satish Verma

09 September, 2015

No Snobbery

Talk of politics,
and the auction begins.

Every rock has a price.
The marble will fetch more flesh.

The granite breaks below
your eyes. I limit the tears.

No time left for complaints.
I am ready for the good –bye.

Will you meet me beyond
the space, faraway in void?

No words will follow me
I am going unwritten.

No profile, no editing.
A bloom will pop up, from
below the fallen tree.

Satish Verma

08 September, 2015


The shovel
moves the wet earth

Your path goes to dark,
in the jungle fire
through Sunset Boulevard.

Father of my father
used to drink a pitcher, of black tea, daily,
to stay alert.

He would tell me,
“Do what you wanted to do.”

The rain will not stop
for sometime. Why don’t
you go to sleep?

The fury of the
flood, will not break
the pride of an oracle.

Satish Verma

07 September, 2015

Always A Thunder

The nightingale was
very sad. Nobody
was taking a call.


A scream would
go unheard, when
the floodgates are opened.


The snake will not
change the color. It
will watch the Noah.

Satish Verma

06 September, 2015

Negation Of What?

in the wounds,
like a gas dragged into
the black hole.

Bedeviling the light.
There are no winners in this war.
Corona will not sit
on any head.

There was ambivalence
in the robust thrust.
The hard x-rays will
burn the thoughts.

Do not go on chasing the
grazed genre. The style
will bring back the questions
which had no answers.

Satish Verma

01 September, 2015

Drowning My Faith

Partly stripped, head shaven
for a royal revelation of eternal scars.

Blood oranges.
You want to practice your knife
on the boneless.

No loaves left for the rainy day.

Do you believe in after life?

White pigeons convulsed
on the hot, searing sands of
the rebel stronghold.

The politics works. Small breasts
with no filling. A gender bias
makes you fit for a Stark effect.

I search the flesh, the eyes
the wisdom.

Satish Verma