29 November, 2015

Skirting The Book

This was man made,
the blue-chip―
changing the landscape.
Fanatically you cling to mother
terra firma like a baby primate.

I am going back to look
like my fathers,
with twisted contours.
Forward― facing, but looking behind.

I climb up the blue,
to unsolve the murder and go
into deep meditation to reject
the gods. The gold mine was flooded
by unprecdented rains of hands and footsteps.

Satish Verma

28 November, 2015

A Space, A Dot, A Line

The hesitant―
dawn cracks, as the
river of darkness squirms.

The moon―
was in last, to leave
the howling bank.

It looms large, a ―
brain-dead future. I think
I am forgetting my age.

You must face the
dying earth― sustained―
on prayers only.

This is the height
of dilemma. Why―
poems were hungry?

Satish Verma

27 November, 2015

Through The Ashes

Outside, a discreet moon
was rising, breathing―
dark. I was wary of strange clouds
of unknown scents.

Like a blue absence of nothing,
from nothing to emptiness.

The religion of unspoken
prayers― I start the journey,
to void. From there a turbulence will begin.

Blinking eyes― will find
the answer to a no-question, at
the end of the conflict―

when the face is lost to sadness.
You will not take off
your shoes.

Satish Verma

26 November, 2015

A Riddle Unsolved

Something novel:
a good augury―
creeping to augment,
an esoteric fall.

I repeat the mistake of knowing too much.

Submodified. The man―
still wants to bite the tongue
on the name of truth.

It was very unpleasant
to see a hummingbird
becoming a sphinx.

No need to commit a suicide after homing,
to a blazing icon in the urn.

Satish Verma

25 November, 2015

Again A Sheep Walk

I will be kissing in proxy―
at the dark side of
the moon, where my twin crashed.

The cracks had emerged
in the fiery zone― the flames
reaching the zenith of blue, killer sky.

A tamed hematoma,
speaks― for the ripped open brain.
There was nobody left to be whole.

Survivors were the gift
of miracle. A saint starts
abusing the stars.

The god’s temple lies―
in ruins, buried under the sand,
debris and the dead faith.

Satish Verma

24 November, 2015

A Discreet Failure

A midnight darkness―
threatens the purple moon,
standing in awe.

There were two poems―
in your hands― which you
wanted to read in my face.

One for the asking―
and one for the moral defeat.
Do you have anything else to narrate?

A thunderbird makes―
a landing in my insomnia―
to scatter the dreams.

The insane world returns
the gift of the pagoda tree. Buddha
will not come back.

Satish Verma

22 November, 2015

Future Tense

The reflection was never
I was trying, was trying
to understand me,
in absence of you.

Looking into the persona
making a saint―
out of sexual surrogacy.

The human gene―
transcripted, on the borrowed womb?
Will you now speak for the fear?

I will never know you
in dimlight―
of suspicions.

Are you a complete man now?

Satish Verma

21 November, 2015


The space in between―
the mayhem and spiritual hour;
was not much, but a spitting image,
of swapping with sun bites― was
evident without remorse.

The ice storm was raging.
Blueberries hang from your
eyes, to bluff me. I draw the curtain
and lit the fire to bring in―
the bride of vengeance.

A charitable act, to clear
the needles from the doll: No black
magic will work now. I am clean
and pure, will not cut a
slice of breast, for the red milk.

Satish Verma

11 November, 2015

The Sorcery

I can do it, hold the wasp
in my palm― without grains
and short of fructose.

Layer by layer eggs
will leak― wetting
the vibrating stigma.

Neat abuses, will suck
the milk of nodding thistle.
No marrow comes out to save the elixir.

The hoofers, without
stirrups were running blindly
after the fallen apple.

The sage sways sadly
in the passive winds. It’s aroma
enters the stream of sex.

Satish Verma

08 November, 2015

It Kills It Kills

Eaten up, by wanderlust―
I started my sleepwalks
cheating my dreams.

The grace of knife was there...
it did not open in daylight.
Night was the brilliant host.

When do I meet you―
behind the moon― when stars
were not twinkling out of fear?

The rare gift of footnotes
was sufficient to explain―
the meaning of abstract pain.

You will not treat the stings―
very unkindly. They were
meant to awaken you from letting it go.

Satish Verma

06 November, 2015

Gold Coins

A hate apart, living in embraces,
one night― you find the
bridge collapsed― in the
forest of skins.

In exasperation― I watch
the face of the adultery. I
will know― I am going too fast
for the hypocrisy.

Why you were becoming too
cozy to the silence of the necks.
The little feet are not―
able to run for the morning star.

Shutting the lamps. No moths
will descend on the books― no
bleeding of the verse, so
you can become empty of arithmetic.

Satish Verma

03 November, 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