31 October, 2015

Karmic Influence

Under surveillance, the vegetable―
lives on ventilator.
All doors were shut― for the
dark― to remain inside.

The spastic breathing with―
rising chest, delivers the
nuances of death. Are you
sure― it was easier to live?

Asking the destiny to wait―
at the door. You can write
your own epitaph―
on the dust― for posterity.

I am coming home to collect―
your letters― you were
writing to me daily― but
never dared to post.

Satish Verma

30 October, 2015

Against Nobody

Do you need a divine witness―
if I abdicate a claim
on you, saluting the dark?

Drawing the ire of a void,
the violence becomes visible―
when earth starts dying.

The completeness― will give
you a rude welcome― after
you were landuishing in wait.

An intern surrogacy―
defies the sexual assault of the
gimmick. Why did not you
swear in the moon?

In jitters. I start―
making circles again― and again.
Will I remember―
who am I?

Satish Verma

29 October, 2015

A Paragon

Like a starfish― you are
not a star, always opening
the shells― with your tube fest
to find the pearls.

Predator― you will attack
in a crowd― when it is dark―
coming out of your skin.

Flesk for flesh. It was your dynasty.

I cannot reconcile. I cannot
play the game of chess―
and checkmate the opponent.
Will wait for a nemesis.

Unorthodox. The nature
reveals its move― in the galaxies.
The earth is in―
mid-life crisis.

Satish Verma

28 October, 2015

The Right Moment

Tell me,
how would you die
when the call comes?

A hollow skin―
with no viscera― underneath.

Will you cry―
while breaking away from the earth―
carrying your own urn?

Elysian vision―
was not very clear
and Styx was full of bodies.

There was no space left
to celebrate the liberation.

A parchment paper
with your fading name printed;
after the petition of right
to exist, undying
in deeds.

Satish Verma

25 October, 2015


First listen to your heart.
No poetry will walk tonight―
without fear.

Sometimes you will find―
words will not descend/to heal
your ache of unslept poems. Hovering/
like the obsessive hawks.

The migratory, adjutant/
storks, had not come to roost
on the tall tree―
naked as they are.

Democracy always/sends
erotica/to take off your mind
from the trivial subjects.

Fireworks resume the celebrations
for the fugitive/who returned
home after drinking absinthe.

Satish Verma

24 October, 2015

Take Up Your Book

After the apocalypse,
the fiefdoms were growing―
buttercups― with golden flowers,

Anemones and hellebores/
aconites and clematises/
famed for making lethal―
poisonous seeds.

So much went through us.

A billion years after― there will be
no life/ on earth. But we
have become lifeless now―
the poems incomplete.

It was getting smaller―
and smaller― the tall man.

Satish Verma

22 October, 2015

Irony Of Gist

The finger and a ring―
a story of bonhomie;
if you live precariously.

Difficult when you are perceptively nimble.

I would like to take off―
any clinger.

If you live in a crate, ―
there is no escape.
The pollination has stopped.

The washed bees will not go anywhere―
in this rain.

The bumbler will strike
when you are eating the poem.

Satish Verma

21 October, 2015

Earth Is Moving

It is pouring.
You can feel, smell and touch
the rain. A river of qualms―
starts swelling. Watercress―
will decide the fate of water.

Do not consent to switch off
the amplitude. You cannot drink the sky.

Keeping the lexicon― of road map in order.

The scope of communiqué
expires, if you do not offer the apology
for dousing the snow with
conspiracy and setting it on fire.

A daring attack takes place
to avenge the insult of mountains.

Satish Verma

20 October, 2015

Night’s Song

Grazing on the clouds,
moon was moving
in a daze.

Someone will milk it
for the poor, who will not
sing for the inevitable.

Witch hazel will stop the
bleed of unholy wars
between the diminutive fidelities.

This was the beginning
of a dialogue― meant for
the deaf― who will listen with the eyes.

There was no consolation
for a man who lost his finger
while searching his ring.

Satish Verma

17 October, 2015

His Or Her Majesty

That inner probe―
and access― was the need. I
promised myself, not to
sail on the waves.

It was difficult― the way
of birth, to deliver the truth.
You must invoke―
the legacy of the reals― against the fakes.

Factuality, your image
will not suffer. I will witness
the ultimate happening. The
testament will not be written on the beach.

Between ” I “ and “you” lies
the gulf of ancestry. The
unknowing will make it
easy to understand the glacial fall.

Satish Verma

16 October, 2015


It bends― the chastity―
the illicit vows. O, let me
become an artisan. I will
ensue― a new harvest of sandalwood.

Don’t light the joss sticks.
There is no abstract presence―
of him. Nobody knows―
you, better than me.

Search the―
magnum opus and you will
find that― man has failed…
to clear the debris of the Fort.

Strange happenings, still
take place. Grass is still green …
in solitude, a poem
takes birth.

Satish Verma

15 October, 2015

Where The Road Ends

Since you knew, ―
it was going to cast a shadow.

I let the question hang in air.
Death was known, ― only to man?

My suffering begins today. Adding―
my two cents, I go wild. Too few
white blood cells cruising in the veins.
Like lightning strike― I put myself
in harm’s way.

Bright yellow―
the gold and fire, absolutely opaque
decimating the drooping primula.

Impulsive, ― I raise the lid
of blazing rage. A divine exposure.
A millennium melts
beneath the carpet of snow.

Satish Verma

13 October, 2015

Virtually Untrue

Lethal mix
of blood ties― before
a fugue delivers its tremors.
A rage visits with the dark voices...

Reverberating in death chamber.

Heat seeking― the missile
goes straight into the heart of the Himalayas.

I am still recovering―
from the eternal fires― of biligual nights.

I am transfixed―
in my shoes― facing shoulder
fired― a sentence ejecting its hate.

Satish Verma

12 October, 2015

Change Of Life

Becoming wise to
your faults. I will not wear
any talisman.

No fireworks were needed
to celebrate the return
of the sane fakir.

Standing up― was the biggest
ideal of the oppressed. I
repeat the act.

Taking the helm― without
retribution― was a challenge
thrown by the dark.

I have come to be reborn
in the name of symbols

Satish Verma

11 October, 2015

No Message

You have kept the
script― to age in dark,
silent night.

Drawn into the upheaval,
of grains―
ready to strike the mouth.

Nameless wheels were out
to carry the gay pride.
I am not amused of the day.

Who was naturally―
born― breathlessly, holding
the flag, to spite the clan.

A pink window was
stolen from the green house.
The light now burns black.

Satish Verma

10 October, 2015

Will You Leave Me?

I did not mean to hurt.

Do not try to flute―
drinking the lianas,
wearing a fatigue. Then comes―
the shoot. Like a scarecrow
I sway― the slug― passes through me.

You ask me to turn over―
the death mask―
giving a smile. There was no
reprisal. Must bring under reins―
the pounding heart― I cannot talk.

Alone to mend my grief, the
scaled loss of bliss. Do not want to
use any metal. Poverty becomes
my strength. Fears will stand with me.
I am empty like a glass.

Satish Verma

08 October, 2015

Scattered Thoughts

Coming to an end the
consecration. The land will
not give you any god.

Only the demons will come in your dreams.

If it were window, the
street will send the black
noises in your house.

I will not wait
for snow-melting.
The slum was going to be
sliced off.

Wet from the rainfall,
the grain cannot be milled
and you will not eat my sprouts.

I cannot sail now.
It must be very dark
and the glossary
very foul.

Satish Verma

07 October, 2015

No Saviour

Out of ambit― you resume
the surfing again― on
yellow tulips―
in misting valley.

One who will not bless
the seed― will sit
in shadow of hunger.

Do not touch the―
impossible blue of the
eyes, unhunted by the tears.

Snare or be snared. If
there was a flint and
the steel― do you think the
spark will be faraway?

In silent night, I will open
the crypt to have a look again―
at the wornout cloak of a paragon.

Satish Verma

06 October, 2015


A freak hailstorm of
proposition, makes you―
deaf and mute. The sex
orientation― will not remain the same.

It was not pink― it was not
blue. A thunder breaks the
roof― of calligraphy. A
beautiful face― goes manic.

About the harvesting― I
would say ― it was all
humbug. You can wear a gem
in your eyes― and still not go stone blind.

The prayer will have a
summer wedding. All the―
lavenders will bring all the
blues and all the mauves.

Satish Verma

04 October, 2015


How many light years you―
have, when I walk
in dark?

The spiral galaxy shakes
me up.Haloes of gas.
I smell you lavender.

Effeminacy. Sometimes the
moon will wear a veil and
I will never know you.

More comfortable when the
ism will go. A stout mount
comes down indigenously.

I will expand a soaring
silence. Abrogation of faith
will give a call.

Satish Verma

03 October, 2015

The Dancing Tale

I do not remain happy
with noises of wisdom.
Time was running out on me
to know myself.

No sensory cognizance. I
touch you with my invisible
hands, stroking the hair
to dislodge the moon.

Ashes lay strewn. River
was overflowing from the
banks of limbs. I will not
come near the unfathomable

depth of a chasm, between
good and bad. Out of the bed
of roses a snake uncoils.
Praise the dark. It in night.

Satish Verma

02 October, 2015


Shedding the knowledge
I was aware of emptiness,
that will allow me
to watch from afar―

the message coming from
the locked doors.
Getting nearer the gorge
you want to look at your spitting image―

in water. I hinge an old frame
to find me in baby face. Did you
see your future visits to
cauldron of life?

You never wanted to become
a god of wayfarers. A tinge
of stupidity was evident to renew
your faults to remain human.

Satish Verma

01 October, 2015

Rising Rage

After the blast, the
morning gets wise, and
does not spill the sun.

And the dead will not
come back to celebrate
the dark after the rage.

There, on the white peaks,
the splattered blood will
draw the face of assassin.

Do not enter the dome of
seething screams. The priest
hangs by the bell.

O, my brother, why we
have become coldblooded after
thousand years of pilgrimage?

Satish Verma