31 December, 2017

Some Sequelae

The bald eagle's pain.
Man-made monument
of cruelty. Summer was drawing
near. The black noon.
Waiting to bring to life,
sleeping cacti.

You have lost your
home. In sand storms. So
you will find shade under
the long tresses.

And eyebrows were arched
skywards. You purse your
lips to start chewing the blood
words. Crazy pain―
I did't ask you to come back.

You be my death. I
will sleep in your lap. You
stroke my poems.

Satish Verma

Coming Full Circle

This was the surrealistic

Omitting the guilt
I will paint a nude.

It was not kind of
pink. Cosy with words―
you will polish the legend,
misspell the murder.

Transfixed I enter
the still life. You come
out with bound hands
to say goodbye.

Sometimes I feel, it is
not over. The sap of black
pine becomes red.
Needles prick me, not to move.

You fold the holy book
and put it in bag.

Satish Verma

30 December, 2017

Flying The Names

There was no raised

Rituals of resuscitation
had failed. Something to lift
from your paintings. I wanted
everything of you.

Not touching the
death cookies. I prepare myself
to witness the―
bread breaking.

There were no tears,
no pangs. No agony.

Was it true that you
were no more you
whom I gave my vision―
my lungs, my pen.

Were you jinxed?
I would never know.

Satish Verma

Downward Spiral

Like pine needles,
you prick, draw blood―
doing the beauty.

Between an angel
and angelina, there stood a wall.
Ah! A religion also.

You are asked
to smear the bone ash on
forehead, and drink moonlight.

Cannibals. All the gods
were cannibals, devouring
their progeny.

You turn back and
give a last glance before
going for a faux pas.

Not a heartache―
for a faun, you were too
proud to accept the gift.

Satish Verma

29 December, 2017

With No Mistake

There was some pain
in your thick voice.
You had gone too far.

Hunted like
a deer, for an ecstatic vision
I was very angry with me.

Learning deep, back
to back, you were aware of
the dogma. It was a witch.

Chasing you on reverse
feet. One kiss less―
you become a beast.

An asp in the sleeve.
My bullet-riddled body
will wait for your stone.

No more I will write your
arrival. The twinkle reflection
of your eyes― uncrying.

Satish Verma

Alone In Myself

The scaffolding falls.
The end and means
become one. There was―
no other second moon.

The prosthetic hand
feels your face. Blind eyes
hear your lips and a severed
leg walks me near you.

Under the tongue you
hide a word. I will never know
what. The armless sun
steals away my golden key.

Will never find you again
in my poems. My book torn,
my pen broken. I am picking
up the old lost coins.

Satish Verma

28 December, 2017

Moon Was Not Rising

Ask the destroyer
of the day, why did you
cross my path― when the
sun was setting?

A subdued sexuality was ready
to get the answer―
from the ultimate punishment.

Meanwhile I search
the ruins of old empire for salt seepage.
Freedom from bread and roof
was still far away.

The cultish nativity booms.
Who was the inheritor of this―
earth? Are you sure the face
of moon was shrinking.

Why the defence of
blood corporates? Shame
the arousal of hooded king cobra.
Snakecharmer was dead.

Satish Verma


Enfant terrible.
I disown myself,
and try to follow my
occult intution.

Crossing the magnetic
field, I become neutral.
You will have to
collect my tears.

There will be no anniversary
of the funeral,
I will die imperfectly.

Failed to kiss the uninviting
throat of the knife. It
went straight into
my unread anthology.

Your smile will chase me
like a black spider. Its lethal
venom was painless.

Black and blue, if
I could perspire in the
freezing snow of the flames.

Satish Verma

27 December, 2017

Wearing Ear-Plugs

I will honor my commitment.
I will face the
volcano alone.

The burning pit―
inspires me. The eternal
flames. There was nothing
blended. Not alloyed.

I shall not forget―
the curves, the falls. The
flowing down of the
stream from godhood.

The half moon, where
does it will land?
Umbilicus kinks. You break
the anatomy.

Like radiation, I
am turning gray.On
extremes, there was no light
nothing dark.

Satish Verma

Pellets Of Frozen Pain

Becoming wolverine,
to find the mutant gene.
What I wanted was, to find
a companion.

You had moved on―
reviving the ontogeny.
Struggling with your mystery,
a god changes his norm.

Always― failed to know
myself, there was a nagging
question. Why? You accept
and then mutilate the new born faith.

The animal instinct rises to hate―
your own species for liberation.
I dare not to confess
the role of flesh in blaming the spirit.

A crisis renews the
holiness to hide behind
the words of a current avatar.

Satish Verma

24 December, 2017

End Game

I would dream every night.
Are you there among the crushing
artifacts? The ruins―

had entered into my
bones. The erosion demands
the price of tomorrow.

Make it easy the severance
of my right arm. Blood does not
frighten me. It was donated.

I have frozen fears. I cannot
touch you. Not in day light.
Darkness will carry my
poems to you.

Blank papers will weep
for unwritten end of the naked
truths. Plasma will dry up.

There is no bone marrow
to be investigated for graft.

Satish Verma

Don't Bless Me

Standing on a rock
near a temple's dome, the
bells chime voicelessly.

For a dark secret, passing
through your big eyes, the colors
want to believe in cryonics.

Freezing the dead body, of past―
face intact, making a heap
of wins, the bundle of desires.

Only skeletons of empty
words hang from the windows
where chattering sparrows used to sit on sills.

Give me your skin. I will
were that till end, creaseless,
hanging from the bony arms.

I am still alive daring the
tomorrow to walk through me.

Satish Verma

23 December, 2017

Beyond Tomorrow

Nixing hate buds was prime lens.
You thought that it was sagacious.
The roof was leaking fiercely.
It sucks your tangerines.

Squeeze if you can,
all the moons of universe. No
milk of mercy, flows
from the eyes.

Something skinny, peeps
in, from the small holes
of walls in a big castle, where
the ghosts walk at night unclothed.

Was it true that there
was no blood, when the
snake bites a white lamb?

I want to come back
from the nirvana where
only the carpetbaggers live.

Satish Verma

Exhausting Me

The faint scars were
becoming green. I remember
my bewitchment of me―
not becoming.

Like pine needles. I
will ask my muse, to confuse
me with some shock depriving
me of aura.

Why do you enter my den
to enrich me with golden words?
I go crazy in phrasing―
the stars and mouthing the moon.

It was a charisma. In my
stasis, I tend to forget me,
start wearing your voice.
Will you some day ask, why?

On silver stairs sits
a marathoner.

Satish Verma

22 December, 2017

Stepping Outside

Sleeping on pavement―
looking at the stars.

I try to reconstruct―
the manikin, you had
flung away like―
an antique plaque.

We were supposed to
talk as equals in this
moment of truth.

Was that not― the
trading in flesh, when you
ask the stonecutter to make
a shrine of an unknown god?

What was your grand
design O love?
Touch my face, I am
burning like a coal.

In a massive blast I
will break into myriad of seeds.

Satish Verma

In A Senseless World

yourself, and telling lies
was an art.

There was always
a trapdoor. Giving a lot
more, than getting less.

Same unthinking
prevails. You forget to
feed the adversaries.

Very nightly
a moon crashes in your
path to meet a colossus.

The thin lovers
again reach behind the
sun. No fiddles were needed
for deaf people.

The blues are going
deeper. You drift like a
cadaver in the moat.

Satish Verma

21 December, 2017

In This Age

Why do I part with
my grief, my poems?

All night I was awake
to know what went wrong?

I extend my empty hand―
so that you can draw my fate.

You have the beautiful gazelle
eyes. Why they always look beyond me?

The salt comes again in
my verses. No sweetened lies.

The truth was too hot to be punched
on my hand. It has made a bleeding hole.

Satish Verma

After The Harmony

Frightened of ending―
what, that did not start.
I try to touch― the timeless zero.
There were no numbers.

I give you what I did,
not have. The future of gilded doors
and agonized window's past.
You offer an eternal smile.

Will I carry the red clouds
beyond your tears and
my trampled wreaths?
We talk ceaselessly ear to ear.

Your silent invite always
baffles me. This world has
always used me as stairs. Why
were you still standing on the ground?

The twinkle works. I shut
my eyes to grab you.

Satish Verma

20 December, 2017

And Many Eyebaths

I shut myself,
you becoming a fugitive,
of the neo-genre.

Birthing a truth―
of this world.
No one was a prophet.

In my inconspicuousness,
I touch you with my poems,
to cross the gloomy door.

And the cup remains
half. You kneel in a prayer
to seek what was not possible.

Who would become blameless
if there was no crime?

The gifts of love―
lie scattered. I cannot
solve the jigsaw puzzle.

A heart bleeds without crying.

Satish Verma

Serene Encounters

I take you today,
to test the fidelity,
my hypothermia.

Too far went my pain.
How to forget you?
Your were not you in my every poem.

The faces blend. I
only see my invested image
in dark.

The picture overlaps
completely― our past―
our future.

The time will teach you
the difference between love and
adoration for a bronze Buddha
or a dancing Shiva.

I turn away my face
from the giant screen showing a fall.

Alone with another god
you offer your virginity.

Satish Verma

19 December, 2017

Knower Who?

Behind the veil, the
salt glitters.

My odyssey will never
end.Writing myself off, how
to unknow the known?

Silently I will read your
lips, when the thoughts
sleep. I want to talk by myself.

The unhappiness never
ends. You discover the red ants
creeping under your vest. You
will kill yourself, not the guests.

I turn to inner mystery.
Deep down I had fallen in love
with an exploding bud. Between
the crack of clouds lightening engages
itself like a third eye.
The sparks fly. Ashen gray
a poem turns the side.
A dawn will kiss me in sleep.

Satish Verma

We Shan't Die

has left footprints,
on mortality, I may go
one day. You will live
in my poems.

Not damaged
by untruths, remaining
entirely human, among
the wolves and brutes.

The body of water
carries the loaves of sleeping
men. The promises broken.
I set my foot for a new journey.

Becoming impersonal
would you ever weigh my
soul songs written for you?
And you bite the pen to write my name.

The eternity invites the
first Yogi to sit under the palm
and recite the last prayer.

Satish Verma

17 December, 2017

At Risk

No story was left
between us. You will not
start any new event.

You sing the absolution
amidst the hails. I was not
ready to retaliate on two legs.

The vibrations reach the
sea. The waves prepare the
advance attack to pull down the sky.

Two small lips tremble.
Even the irises swell―
before the frost.

The naked dolls swim
before the moon rises. There
were no stars in sky.

Satish Verma

Things Unknown

The world was not
coming around. I give
out a piercing scream.
You tripped my poems.

Did not weigh in the
yearning― no nectar,
no creamer.

And over the shoulder, you
look back on the dwindling encounters―
between us to become
strangers. I am still green
still wounded.

Would not retrieve, the
small entrances. I see better
in dark. Light splits
the fat. Gray hounds leap
for the scent of blood.

I stand in witness box
for no crime.

Satish Verma

15 December, 2017

Sonorous Voices

I wanted to be ready.
Take my consent for the assault,
before you reveal
your fangs.

the fiesty moon, shoots
at the tangerines of orange―
red skins.

The waves will not grieve.
There was ample time
to drown the black buttons
of windshields.

Bleeding mouths of
baby poems eject the barbs.
Forget the believers. There
was no magic in my art.

It was a pure symphony.

Satish Verma


Becoming impersonal,
the observed will speak today,
not the observer.
There were no complaints.

It drills the hole in heart.
But you don't die.
No blood spills.

On the rocks―
stands a temple of unbeing
I am ready to become a monk.

This was not a murder,
not a suicide, if you
want to become a martyr.

The heaven trembles.
Let the veil rise, unmasking
the blind truth.

The mercury was rising
without fever.
There was no alarm.

Satish Verma

14 December, 2017

Wordless Meanings

Touching every lamppost―
counting the buttons,
the palmer moved from
relic to relic,
from stone to stone.

Dipping the moon in dark
clouds, the pilgrim never
stops in night or day. To―
remain poor was his journey.

Shedding the stars,
blacking the sun, the ancient
script remains unread. No saviour
will come from land, in water
on hills. You love to dig
your own meaning.

Do not look back. It is
endless path. You fall and rise
stare at the slanting
eyes of unseen.

Satish Verma

Want To Listen Your Voice

Moonlight you win,
in the dark I fail.

Will you come in the
loop to find the truth of uppity?
A fractured footage―
was silent, hiding behind the words.

The verse libre
was not ready to celebrate life.

The skin purity. Will
you mind to pass on Ammonium nitrate?

My river of eyes has
dried up. Forgive my
benign sins. I am going
to live without you.

The senseless wheels zoom.
How far was the god?

Satish Verma

13 December, 2017

The Exodus

You have reached
on misty heights.

I die again
carrying you under
my skin.

Hidden from the
glare of blazing

In labyrinthine, you
open the knots―
of uneasy breasts.

In silence― we
will give our signs
and part.

My limbs
give out― I walk
in air.

Satish Verma

My Angel

Who will know
except you that I
killed my velocity to meet
you in infinite obscurity.

From autumn to autumn
I will wait for a
collision course of nobility
with pure surrender.

So many tattoos on
your body. How many poppies
had kissed you in the spring?
Shame on the blue sky.

Do you believe in reincarnation?
I was Buddha on death bed
when you had touched
my feet unsolicited.

There was no end of celebrities.
Who was quveten than you?

Satish Verma

12 December, 2017

Middle Truth

White doves
with clipped wings
were losing the visual acuity.

The pride was
damaged without consolation.

How much you can climb
on the heap of the dead?
Honeybees won't buzz now in sun.

Can I ask your real name
by birth? There would not be any religion?

Perhaps I was not pure
as your virgin paradise.

Your breadth does not reach me any more.

I am going high
to confront the unknown,
to kill the flesh.
There were no bones of truth.

Satish Verma

Short Comments

Eating thoughts.
You look beautiful
without thinking.

To become
unbeing. You walk
straight into void.

Eyes glazed,
as if washed recently
by tears.

A painless
birth of love between
two hands.

Satish Verma

10 December, 2017

Stone Hearted

There was nothing left
to say, after the great
decline of humanity.

Knowing yourself,
watching without any action.
Then who triggered the quake?

A little candle in storm.
But the selfish man will
not keep a date.

Migration will
continue towards the edge.
You were not there in my verse, today.

Satish Verma

Meeting Nemesis

Blood on your hands,
do you belong here
to claim deity?

Baring my emptiness,
I have come to you
for some answers,

Sharing the same orbit, you
were shy to accept the debris rise.

Ah! Are we sliding
to mental downside? Snapped
under the stress of cultural climb?

You want to hurt yourself,
observing your own midriff?

No riposte was coming.
I am planning to quit
the stage.

Moment of hubris has come.

Satish Verma

09 December, 2017

Handsome Ending

In process of―
searching you. O invisible truth
I was hurt.
One death leads to another.
You must have changed your cloak
not your voice. I will
find you one day.

Your angles were
right, except the distance.
At your lying down place
a marigold was born
defying the sun. Make sure
night was not your enemy.

It was not yield―
my pride. You must shift
your zodiacal light to match
me on the waves. You will
need me, and I will need you.

Satish Verma

This Happened

Say something
on this crucial moment,
standing near the funeral home.
My gods were dead.

Last night I had
left the bed on the call of―
mountains― where I had to
climb back to my final abode.

Any poem in September
was worthy of the rewrite
in rainy day of mourning.

One by one the―
fruits fall. You unwrap
the kernels to bring out
the shiny seeds. One day they will
become the tallest trees.

Friends and foes.
I rise and
become a pagoda.

Satish Verma

07 December, 2017


I start breaking―
after the hate call.

Like emery paper,
something rubs my lips.
A raw affection bleeds.

It was only dust. I don't
want to wait for my tomorrow.

A conduit forbids
to improve the congenital
lisp of a godchild. You want
to preserve the virgin innocence.

Tears on both sides,
who will wipe off the scars
of the moon?

Not universal,
you were the cosmos,
staring into the eyes of void.

Satish Verma

In The Spin

To save the last bruise,
after an encounter with
a kiss of the breaking rock and melting voices.

I did not want to
remember you in twilight
of dementia. There was no birthday for me.

A brown girl drowns
in my deep poems. You had become
a river without a bed.

Can you give me a
name― for my unborn child?
I loved him to measure you my mate.

After all I refuse
to die inspite of all the falls.
Beyond the bricks lies my blessings.

It were only you.

Satish Verma

06 December, 2017

Speak My Language

Trying to count
the beautiful years, spent
in the journey of heart.

There was an uncanny
feel. The pink coldness
was not mine.

Like you ditch the
timelessness, and live in a
drop of dew to meet the sun.

The flesh. A suicidal
move to move away
from the relationship of night.

Of the tenderness,
benign death of a star.
Dust celebrates the glorious fall.

The grieving will not
stop. A charred book of bliss
terminates the vision.

Satish Verma

05 December, 2017

My Muse

Tired from the world―
waiting for you, till the night falls
and heart accelerates.

You will come gingerly―
sticking the moon on forehead,
go near the mirror and smile.

I would ask if anyone else―
has loved you so much as me.
The fireflies start shimmering.

Tears will wash your―
eyes and you will read my
message clearly. Inside―

the eyes the image―
will develop of a venus.
I will write a poem.

Satish Verma

So Many Half-Truths

You were still thinking.
Thinking beyond thoughts―
the void, the space, the time.

A crush of relics was
piling up. Bloodshed and poverty
at hands, you do not want to talk.

The challenge of being or isness
persists. I go back to the
culture of ancient theology to
understand the divine arithmetic.

The numbers were increasing,
of gods, godmen and crimes.
No sermons. The autumn
will bring down the foliage―
green, red, brown
to yellow.

Satish Verma

04 December, 2017

You Were My Last Kill

What was your secret of―
cheating on me?

If you were an abstraction
like a moon in blue night,
how will you write
a poem, without paper and ink.

I was a word catcher,
of your language.
Cannot decipher my pain in―
my nativity.

Always had to live in the
family of longhorns, who
destroyed my sanctity.

You raised a tomb
of sun, after death squad
failed to kill me
and the dark fell.

Just before the dawn
I will meet you in deep lake of eyes.

Satish Verma

What Was Untouchable?

Being set on fire
my fantasy, my vision.
Something that should not have happened.

Latched to heritage―
the touch of faith brings
sharp harpoons.

Not easy to forget
an elegy I made for unknown.
Will you come to throw the dust?

Cannot punish you
for my sins. A humming bird
crashed this noon on my deck.
A square face peeps from behind the tears.

September had been always
harsh. This month I had decided
to falter.

Satish Verma

03 December, 2017

This September

How far you will go―
with me,
in purple night.

Life will betray.
Death was honest.
Gods cheat.

Once perishable,
and obsolete.
You were chewing the same words.

Can I borrow
the sun from you for a while?
My moon was under a spell,
I will wear your smile.

Desire like toothache
was rising, tearing me apart.
I will drink only the potion
from your hands.

Satish Verma

Magical Solution

your hidden contours,
as true to yourself,
from unseen to seen.

Like a phoenix,
you are supposed to write
your own epitaph,
before jumping on a funeral pyre.

The bald eagles
like simple truth, give
you pain and hurts. I write
a poem for you― then
delete it.

A transitional encounter.
One of us was lying. There
was no eye of the moon.

In search of the silver bullets
to kill the werewolves
of our life.

Satish Verma

02 December, 2017

Time To Leave

Sipping the light
from moon, playing with
dandelions, do you remember me?

Milky latex on your
hands, you squeeze the round
seeds, as if to become steady―
for a denial.

I will never know the―
difference between the twins.
Pain and ecstasy of loving the
thorns of rose hips.

Stay there, where you
were comfortable. Standing
on the edge of a steep rock
I am waiting for―
the fall.

Satish Verma

You Were The Moon

Taste of death, while
talking of stealthy footsteps
of bloodied religion.

Like a hedgehog you
curl up, stay quiet to let pass the god.
Not answering was your answer.

That was not a good
analogy if I kiss your hand
to ask a reed dance.

Part of you, walks in step
together― under the moon,
yet you cannot embrace your shadow.

It was full moon night. After
a long time I went out
to meet him. He was wearing a red cap.

Satish Verma

01 December, 2017

If You Were Me

Like canary
you flew into my arms.

Capturing the inevitable.
Vowels and consonants had
separated again.

Chasing the melting
glacier, you jump into the sea.

Moguls were trying to
reach out, blow-by-blow.

Moon like half-brother
was envious, of the grace of fall.

A baby fist was striking a blow
on the wall of doped womb.

I am preparing to receive
a gay courier of apocalypse.

Bones buried in ashes
were jutting out.

Death game begins.

Satish Verma

No Riders

Again trying to forget
you, leaving behind the
loose ends in air. The descent
of Aerial begins.

A fairy― amongst the
gorgons. Like a soft poem
walking on burning coals.
I was always warning you.

Sometimes too much knowing
hurts. I want to become
ignorant of hovering dark clouds.
No light was the best option.

The stings, many of
them were closing in. The
cruel honey sticking to all
the toes. I cannot run.

Sowing the rounded seeds,
you don't get the poppies.

Satish Verma

30 November, 2017

Polka Dots

We are afraid of each
other. You start packing
your majolica wares to move out
swiftly, not to return back.

The floor was dirty.
I walk barefoot on the sharp edges.
To ask the matriarch of pains―
mother earth, how long the
man should suffer?

A woodcutter does not
want to pursue his art. He
throws his axe far away and
starts meditating.

So much violence in our
lives. You slay a traveler
for telling his mind.

You were becoming jealous
of yourself. Start throwing
pepper in the eyes of moon.

Satish Verma

Stepping Down

You drop
Your body and become. "I"

Howling will rise
from spinal curvature.
Wolf was running in circles.

The carnivore would
never smell the roach.
He wants only the pith.

You snare a parakeet
to share the pain. "I" became
"You" in a trap. Still knowing the self,
was important.

I burn in your prayer.
I am the sea, and I was
the setting sun.

The mother poppy cries
for the family.
How the sky will cover
the orange moon?

Satish Verma

29 November, 2017

Untouching Smiles

Sitting on the border wall
and looking at the moon.
China breaks in my dry eyes.

Clay into vitrified
ceramic asks for emigration
to the sea for final immersion,
to meet the creator.

I look for your face
in water, that haunts me
day and night. Would you ever
fill up the colors in the map of my pain?

More poems. How could you
stop them coming? My
every ache turns into a daffodil.

Satish Verma

Remembering Pythagoras

Trying to learn from
you, to stay alive like a
trembling candle in wind.

Cut flowers in the vase,
white lilies. Turn blue―
when your smile fades.

The twists and circles.
My search had ended in you.
Why you need to go?

I do not want to
measure this moment. Time pie
stops and look at me.

Some questions have
no answers. Some questions don't
rise. Some questions die.

Satish Verma

28 November, 2017

You Have Arrived

Your poetry was
a hyphenated struggle
to become a blood stained city,
where I live to find
a Judas kiss.

No remorse, no panacea.
I don't feel the spark.
No belief tarnished in the
autistic approach of life.

You think the increasing
distance will heal the
hurts of cuddling under the moon
in flames?

What the numbers have
given to us. Hands have the
same fingers and thumbprints
were fake.

No mass wailing.
The wolves can laugh too.

Satish Verma

End Race

Privy to my crypt
O paragon!
I turn around in my ashes.

And take a rebirth.
was my desire―

of gravid pain. Life
opens a new book of

Will not call you by
any other name.
I will set you free today.

Through discreet,
stenosis. I will move
in your veins till eternity.

A pure kill―
I vibrate to
catch the last glimpse of the ocean.

Satish Verma

27 November, 2017


The tiger in the woods
You play with blue tits
in backyard
hiding the insects.

I have become―
clean, absolutely empty
like a dry well.
Will you fill me with

You wear saffron
I go green.

Tell me how you dance
on the flames?

Satish Verma

Verged Into The Suicidal Art

Unnaming pro-lifers, I
was ready to imitate
the song of the ruins.

Rising like a phonex
from the spermaceti of flames,
a unisexual rage,
engulfs the smoke of burning homes.

I am painting you
black, O white god, your
devotees were coming in the nude.

Bend down angel; the eclectic
door was small and the beautiful
windows were closed.

No need to wait for
a lost moon. The godchild
had been laid to rest in scythe bed.

Come when you are
going to faint in the arms
of poems. I will stay for eternity.

Satish Verma

26 November, 2017

Paper Wreaths

To understand the life
after the flames die, I will
meet you in conflict zone.
Do not come with a tag.

Marked for a kill
I overturn the dead body of a cobra
to find my image in the glazed
eyes. My willingness was gone.

In a loop, I do not want
to ask any questions. Cannot
you understand, what
I do not want to say?

The empty glass does
not lie. You did not climb
the silken hills to be in a mausoleum.
I will not make my tomb.

Satish Verma

Face Mirror

Half your young age,
violence comes in choppers,
to avenge on the solemn moon―
for a long night.

It sucks, day and
night. The assassination
draws the blood tears, unwashed,
from the sunny plasma.

The crotch was saboteur.
Pure love had become
an echo of hemlock.
Your lips were blowing blue.

It was terrible trauma
of believing in your religion.
Truth will not rise―
from the dead.

The perfect U-turn.
A dead poem turns into
dew on your eyes.
I am singing again.

Satish Verma

25 November, 2017

Like The Flames

To erase your subtle pangs.
You become ingrained in verses.

I will not speak―
a single word to come to terms
with the unknown.

But life extracts a price.
You must become a buddha―
and leave your princess.

You will not see―
the Apocalyse giving rise
to an opus. And my child
you cannot read my book.

The voiceless dumb
bell goes on ringing to send a
call for the faithful to come
and jump into the cauldron of moon.

I boil in the guilty sun.

Satish Verma

It Were Not You

This one-sided
dumb feeling, rising―
nothing less.

I reconstruct your
profile after strip tease.

Stitching the
thoughts with my empty
pen, no ink― no paper.

A poor day at hand.
I will not talk to anyone
about a dumb doll.

No fillers.
You don't need any make up
to bring the black smile.

Moon and the candle,
both were wary
of silent storms.

Satish Verma

24 November, 2017

After Valentine

The art of faking
will not come to me.

Your breadth
twists the moon, making
a dent on the face
of lookalike.

Becoming a stranger,
celebrating love― without
my arms of flames.

An old story repeats.
Beautiful but trembling,
the farewell handshake.

Neither comes
nor goes, the vase life
of withering roses.

The sculpture
was not yet ready.
The angel recapitulates.

Satish Verma

Not The Thing

Life plays the tricks.
You become a meteor-
a streak of light, in the almond eyes
of a god.

I don; t like the grey areas.
Can you become fearless
and confess the guilt of drinking
the mercury? Blisters had
appeared on your face red and blue.

Was it a pure fault?
Mother earth smiles.When buried
alive thirty below the mound of lies
you remained alive.

Dehydrated, you speak
the truth and spill out the
false teeth.Your mind separates
from the heart and blood stains emerge.

Satish Verma

23 November, 2017

Great Kills

Let the dialogue begin
between the apostate and
the threatened god.

Heretic demands
an apology from the religion
of assassin.

The bleeding ancestors
release the mathematics
of grey crimes.

So your temple was
destroyed because of the lion
sitting at gate.

A moon falls on the
raw hides of innocents and
the planet stops breathing.

Satish Verma

Collecting The Relics

Predicted to fall.
Man battling against his
demonic spirits.

A killer silence
becomes a knife. Slicing your thumb.

You want to invoke
the missing gods, sleeping
under the dams.

No one should bring
me to tears. I disapprove
the color of blood.

My bones are becoming
stronger, without flesh. I walk
without legs on the hills of fog.

Do not throw the
acid on moon. Hands
will do.

You cannot pass through
a ring of fire. Bonding fails.

Satish Verma

22 November, 2017

For Intensive Eyes

There was something
between the lips.
You will not recite my name.

A muted word―
becomes a psalm at
execution. There was no
crowd to witness the grace.

If I prepare a book of
all my defeats, would you
write obituary.

The antiquities had become
alive. This was the beauty
of lunacy.

And the saint was dead
without meeting his god.

Satish Verma

You Walk Beside Me

Sharing my sweetbread
with you in densely days when
want spans religion.

You burn my roses.
Exiting the day I go for―
wash of cannabis.

Cannot forget you
once in my emptiness of
harvesting the moon.

Rains. The August night―
invites an apparition.
You walk through the door.

Satish Verma

21 November, 2017

There Was No Rebillion

Hiding the meaning
of life, you caused the
absurdity. Theater was not
ready for the audience.

An interim relief
comes for the aging. Blue
stars were moving away.
You will murder the sharks.

Skulls start playing. I
yell against the salt that splits
the tongue. Thick-lipped gods
start making the paper-nests
for the wasps.

Winter becomes warm-blooded.
There was no snow on
the trees. Owl butterflies
come out at dusk to collect
their dues.

When the sun sets, moon
shaped boys unroll the centuries.

Satish Verma

Soul Mate

You were wired, I
won't let you go with zinnias
in this beastly night.

I hate them all, the
ad verbums. Go gently in sea
to drown yourself.

That half-eaten apple
in the rains brings the message
of a fallen angel.

Take me home when I
forget, who was me, standing
in moonlight, eyes shut.

Satish Verma

20 November, 2017

Last Wishes

Like for Terra,
the goddess of the earth―
I will leave everything to you.

Hot legs run,
run for the sea of shame,
to wash the holy guilts.

It was a holocaust―
stonewalling to elicit,
the number of dead bodies.

Dark circles under
your eyes. I love them―
for the sake of darkness.

Prepare the swan
song for once, the blasts
were ready to encircle me.

Satish Verma

The Moral Suicide

Skin to skin
you cut the psyche,
after severing off limbs.

Xenophobia takes you
out of my life,
breached and stranded.

I will move to
another consciousness
to renew the peace of death.

Love-haters abound
now. Multiple wounding
starts cloning of unborn ideas.

Microholes leak the
secret. Between words there
was no space, only time.

A comet blows away the
angel dust. I stand forlorn
on water.

Satish Verma

19 November, 2017

On My Terms

Trying to forget, I forget myself.
Who am I? I had
an elective love for unknown.

As a gardener I was tending
you in my palms― a precious plum;
so soft that you
start wilting under the gaze.

The sharp edge― you gave,
to my phrases. I cannot use this
weapon against you―
when you want to leave.

I was very afraid of
disintegration. As far as you go
I will not touch you in
any downpour.

Eyes. lips and long―
black tresses. I won't need
anything more.

Satish Verma

In Cursive Style

A bruise has appeared―
where you had kissed me,
last night. O Miranda―
I am not going for any other moon.

Like Uranus, I bleed
in my eyes; from every pore.
Astraphobia― I am going to
stay in dark.

This theology of aneurysms?
Who was hoodwinking
the ancient gods in the battle
of murderous themes? My hands
start shaking.

A blue rash spreads.
In honeyed voice you invoke
your angel and seek blessings―
before you go for a rape.

Satish Verma

18 November, 2017

Reading Nietzsche

After knowing you,
I want to unknow me.

Did you reach the
head of the mount to bring
a piece of god?

he went mad asking for
godliness in stones.

When I wake, make
me go to sleep again, among those,
who are slaughtered
by tongue.

Dig me deep. My bronze,
my blood, are going in a free
death, like the fall from
the mission.

The muted thoughts
go for you,
in loud echoes.

I do not speak.

Satish Verma

My Theology

I will do no harm
in asking the colors of
dazzling stripes so lovelorn
that they cling like reptiles.

Cold-blooded. Transcend
like seagulls, which dive
to catch their own images. You kept on
walking on cobble-stones.

Half your life sat between two
deaths. One of redwood
and other of falling star.
You want to go back to lake for a holy bath.

Ignites. You bleed like a
hidden wound. Never finishing―
of endless journey. You
will never find your namesake.

Satish Verma

17 November, 2017


Tracing your eyebrows on paper―
eyes mine, we will
write together our religion.

Each night catches
my moons from the lake
of tears. The days were
becoming shorter.

Surely, I have not
arrived amidst the seekers
of easy death. You give me―
the hope of resuscitation.

I promise myself―
I will not give you a call―
till the nightingale sings in
mango grove.

All night it has rained.
Lacrimal. I prepare myself to
wash my eyes again―
to read your face.

Satish Verma

The Will To Survive

Little birds
had become stone pelters.
Uneasy would lie the hands, that
had become avid pawns.

Sometimes you watch
the erotica, mating in air,
to listen to echoes
of self-destruction.

The stigma will not go.
Human judgment was
falling. You grab a Rilke
to find the answer.

If man was truth then
what was a beast?
don't commit the eye of god.
Every honour was fake.

The gay philosophy was
for yourself. I had been living
perilously, not hiding
behind the rituals.

Satish Verma

16 November, 2017

For You...

You said a lot today
without telling anything.

I braced myself for another―
night's assault― aching
for tomorrow's journey on
the volatile trail.

All night I will remain
in tizzy. Unceasingly a fragrance
will hover. That would be killing.

There was sheer urge to fly
with untouchable pain. But
the shadow of bliss, the calm walks with me.

I take you once for all,
bring you back to my paved
words, you become my muse.

Satish Verma

Meet Me Again

There was no collateral
damage to my flower vase.
My roses were intact.

I had asked you to wear
a yellow scarf like a ―
hijab of moon. Somebody was
going to meet plain brown end.

The famous leg cross of―
‘Basic Instinct' does not impress me.
I will drink from your oceanic eyes.

Like Sylvia Plath in
death gown, you amble gingerly
to embrace my poems.

The dew drops hang
from the asparagus leaf tips.
I wipe away my tears.

Satish Verma

15 November, 2017

To The Bronze Sculpture

Without narrating
yourself, when and how
will you perform the ritual suicide?

Blindfolded, I
open the destiny of man.

Your thoughts make a hole
in the giant feet.

Who would let me, be dark,
to find the light of truth?
O God, take me to wilderness to embark on my journey back,
or become a tree man.

Let the tree-hugging start again.

Very prudently, I need to color my eyes.
Don't want you to begin crying.

Satish Verma

Negation Creates

I was not there
when omentum was incinerated.
No unparing was called for
digging your own grave.

In eerie silence, I
start collecting the shells
of forlorn pearls.

It would be a miracle
if I can read the invisible.
I can become a killer when you
are not there.

The mute girl will not―
give her lips.
Only eyes. I must lift my
poem from there.

The Hamlet's dilemma. You
will, will not taste the

Satish Verma

14 November, 2017

Where The Doors Have Gone

You were afraid of,
unknown, walls pulled down―
you stand in bones.

The surrounding hills―
give a call. Come for the sacrifice
for your transparent limbs.

Unsung, unpraised,
moon will rise tn the woods―
to bring out the victims of rage.

No identification was
needed to wash the bodies.
After death, there was no religion.

Now prayers must begin
to save the weeping earth.
Sky will drop the sun.

Satish Verma

Blast Cells

I forget,
leaving behind― ambiance
of your arms,
burn the windows―
not to come back.

Preparing for
water burial of moral questions,
where the unnamed pledges sit.

Now theft has taken
place of stakes, meant for black lungs.

Tongue sucks the acid
of hairless assault. You
won't subscribe to buy the oral taste.

From trees, death strikes,
without wings. Tears float
with glory.

Will, not count
the ordinal numbers.
There was a zero to begin with.

Satish Verma

12 November, 2017

How Precious You Were

I cannot say adieu to you.
Like an implant―
you will go with my bones.

Truth was always underlined―
with lies. Now lead was
floating in my blood.

No one will read the
hidden map. Pink claustrophobia,
with clenched teeth.

I will bring the blue
death in September, when
there would be no shade.

The human fires burn,
ablaze in verses. No tears
no masks. You move in circle
with no center.

Satish Verma

Prayer To Prayer

Deadpan. Far off an
explosion. First a lull, then
rises cicadas shrill.

You release paper―
lamps into the river. One for
black rose in the book.

Blue birds, will they come
again in my lonely patch
of abandoned home?

Missed beats will not
appear to pick up the pause,
between absent words.

Satish Verma

11 November, 2017

Writing On Parched Skin

For feeding a false tree
of life, beheading
a god was becoming a passion.

Snubbing the checks
and bruises, you
love to be alone in a mad crowd.

As if to be ready
for disintegration, you walk
in pain. Astounded
earth starts shaking.

In unwholeness, the
lamps become dark. The bones
were visible without light.

You want to run
with a comet, away from sun
in coldness of frozen smiles.

Don't drag my shadow.
I am fixed like a legacy.

Satish Verma


Under deadly nightshade
we met for the first time,
to watch each other's brilliance―
and rip away.

The scars had become our
moons. We sailed through―
the ocean of grief.

When we gather in dark
there was no choice―
between I am, and you are.

You were afraid to confront―
not accepting what your skin feels
and mind rejects.

The soul searching begins
to become non-conformist,
in green night―
beautiful night.

Satish Verma

10 November, 2017


It was restless mind
and I ask you something.

The grammar.
When something big―
happens, I find an excuse
to say small things.

O invisible!
how do I resolve the puzzles
of life. It had become a big
traumatic event.

The rain―
of inflected words
backed up by silence, keeps
me running―
to find the import.

Tell me―
how do I remember you.

Satish Verma

Dew Drops

Washed-up your
facial nuance, like jellyfish
at abandoned shore.

I was collecting shells
today, to write a poem for
your brown irises.

Pink chrysanthemums
will not say anything, but were dying
when you were away..

In rains you take a
figure, like a blue black bird
ready to fly away.

Satish Verma

09 November, 2017

Jumping From The Surface Of Water

You were not a god―
in panic, seeking an asylum
with two little hands
holding a golden book.

There was a potential
threat of complete annihilation
from the foul writing on the walls
with spurious titles.

A political blitzkrieg
takes place in glass dome,
drawing out bad blood,
from healthy limbs.

Where would you go, now
in dark? Fleeing from the violence
of men, being migrant without
a temple at the end of the earth.

Satish Verma

On Birthday

A rose on your name shines,
like a mural painting.
You had wanted
a deathless dying.

Does it happen to everyone?

Living on water,
still abrasive?

When you walked on the nails,
was it corrosive, like
acid on face?

I am visiting the death room
to start a vigil, like
a hummingbird gone mute.

And the lovebirds will show
no more the open affections.

The moon will heal the poem.
Hearth will keep on throwing
the crackling blaze.

Satish Verma

08 November, 2017

Unlike Anybody

In your painting the
silence of death was very loud.
I will call a poem.

Hold it down, your horse
power. Floodgates will open to
let out ugly ducklings.

In moonlight― I may
sit on the sand dune to listen,
the silent, inner voice.

Lines on your forehead
are getting deeper. May I
call the nightingale?

Satish Verma

The Sunday Ritul

Belong to yourself in―
green flames and wait for
the hibiscus of September.

Meanwhile you will
break the silence of deathless
moon. I will watch the dark
night till then.

The yes woman walks
on water. I stay on the shore
to see the bones drown.

It was great worthy of the
digitalis. Fingers of gloves
will measure the beats of heart.

Attending the funeral was
waste. You will rise again
from ashes to beat revenge.

Satish Verma

07 November, 2017


After euthanasia,
I was conversing with a ghost.

Foam-born, he
wanted to shrink in a ring.

To cause harm―
a knife, apologizes,
for playing with fire.

That is the life,
of a mortal― to keep his
god, as a prisoner
of books.

And yet, you are called
a great warrior of words.

In your prime flight,
when the sun is setting,
you want to drop dead
like a sparrow, on eternal greenness
of silence.

The horses run in full alacrity.

Satish Verma


You evoke the desire.
I break like bougainvillea leaves.
Wind sweeps the floor.

After tarantula bite,
I pick a peony― ambling
aimlessly in rains.

Until the seagull
lands, I will stay on the beach
waiting for sunset.

Waves scramble before
the moon rises. I will hold
the flowers in palms.

Satish Verma

05 November, 2017


In final journey, there
was a collective guilt.
To find an opus, I reach out
for a carbon pit.

It was not your grief
not my miracle. Collecting the
cadavers to sleep with―
for warmth.

Ashes, you poke at the
art. Except self-elevation
and grandiosity, what to discover
in the heap of refuse?

You start nibbling at your
clothes. The scream melts at
the stitchs. Style wavers,
you become naked.

Satish Verma

Virtual Images

A very crude question,
I will ask. What kind of
bestiality or a war―
you want to start, after a
little infidelity?

It was not a dumb
pleading. The orange moon
burns every night.

Some virgin deaths,
and conversations about
this side of murders are needed
to be addressed.

Water and earth, both
were becoming hot and cold.
Nothing was good,
nothing was bad.

The white gowned ghosts
wanted to become benign.

Who was playing God?

Satish Verma

04 November, 2017

At The Navel Of The Earth

Again you took a wrong path
to meet the angel.
Like larkspur, you had
the dolphin's back.

Tears will not stop in the―
eyes of the moon. The
eternal itch remains. You will
not drop your smell like musk.

Like the Nazi salute, you
raise your right hand to bless
the crime of telling truth. Now
people listen― when you are gone.

The poesy suffers. As
also the ink. You want your
dark spots to come back. In
contrast, the sun will shine.

Satish Verma

Whom To Tell

It was your weapon.
Nobody else would have given in.
Sucked in by the eternal faith.

Undying love
makes me dumbfounded.
Can you make this world a better
place to live?

What you had done to
my religion? Love does not
begets love now.

You know― what I
do not. Even the barbed
fence will allow the lies.

A gift of rape.
Why life has so many colors?
I will ask the sea.

Satish Verma

03 November, 2017


Beyond the moon
spirit, I will wait for the
holocaust to disappear.

Spruced up stones were
becoming idols for pagans
of muse.

The singer is gone. Only
the fluted men will wear black,
till the moon arises.

Sitting near the feet
of saints, the fronds unroll the
untidy sins, as a homage to sun.

The vigilance increases.
Nobody will write one's name
on the growing trees of palms.

There would be no
preface, when the violence
starts without lips.

Satish Verma

Not Asters

Your roses drink the
sun in dewy dawn. I catch the
speed of dying moon.

The rains bring in new
asterisks to anoint the verses
before their burial.

One more mercy to let
the shadows of swallows fall
on my blank pages.

Your lips are like hinged
leaves of Venus flytrap. Become shut
when you trap the words.

Satish Verma

02 November, 2017


The horses run like―
tiny dots, on horizon, to
meet inevitable.

A celestial dance
ensues for skulls uncapped
to hear the echoes.

How far was the house
of god, where you will receive
the revelation?

My tribe was hurt. I
cannot stand indeterminate
end of the slaughter.

Satish Verma

Blue Bloodspots

A fallout from your
waning smile, parades
a naked wound.

A slice from a wake―
remembers me.
I was sitting in lotus position
ready to go for abdication.

Your message was elegantly
subtle. Not to lose conscience,
remaining the first lover of death.

Exiled from guillotine,
you don't see holiness in
the talons of eagle coming down.

The tree and a river
were old friends. The scarves
tied to the old branches, will
tell the collaborated suicides.

No sane hands will break
the knees of moon.

Satish Verma

01 November, 2017

Before The Hanging

Today you are moon,
tomorrow Miranda.
I will call you by different names.

To atone the travesty
of justice, you pull down the flag
from atop of the fort.

Nodoby else was there
when you hit the planet.
We join our hands to drown
without a lake.

The king of sky, now
waits for the tempest. When the
daughter will come to wipe out
the tears of snowy peaks?

Satish Verma

Missing The Bus

For the memory of palms,
the pretence lives on―
the blade of a saber.

You run on the sands
barefoot― to catch the waves
returning back to sea.

You had stopped
talking to me― wearing the
mystery― I loved.

On skin you print the
anthem. Somebody kills the lamb.
The pathos went quiet.

Becoming cold turkey,
absolutely white. The pilgrimage
over, you break the coconut.

Satish Verma

31 October, 2017

With Paper Frills

Touching your
glacier lips with my poems.
A splinter thought
has hogged the center stage.

There was a double
meaning in relaxed posture
of rebellion. Doves of peace
were not visible as yet.

The poverty of freedom
to defend the talent of embracing
death without bullets of shame.

Stones in limelight, left
and right, hitting the walls
of silence. The fat people with
golden hair will decide the hard core burns.

All night, I was
changing sides. Moon was
sending the messages in gaping holes.

Let the skin of hands,
hang like salt-and-pepper!

Satish Verma

To Be Human

Not thinking of you
in vacant mood.
Sometimes you want to put
questions to yourself.

Touching the bruises, like
a lover, not to feel the pain. You
want to wipe out the hurts,
trespassing the area of darkness.

Changing the script, you want
to etch out your name―
on the trunk of a fig tree. Under which
a Buddha wanted to meditate, but did not.

The hands print will tell the tale
of a masterpiece built by them after which
they were chopped off.

Satish Verma

30 October, 2017

How To Proceed

Opening night's silk,
remembering you, under moon―
walking on wet grass.

You were not fake in
a crowd of naked fakirs,
taking bath in sun.

The truth must come out
to face the mother tongue,
when god was killed.

Where it hurts, the shoe's
nail. Prodigal son was blind.
Did not read the road.

Satish Verma

In Terrible Times

Poetry stares, unblinkingly,
in dilemma―
at mindless extremism.
Evolution of words,
was going retrograde.

Your pretty face―
needs dusting. I was
curious to know about the story
of night shifts.

Sometimes I am hit―
by your feline grace to go for
immolation of male chauvinism.

You erect the barriers,
so that I won't
reach your lips. The moon
went laughing whole night.

A slow poison, like
hemlock, you drink the hurts
to stay alive in a wax house.

Satish Verma

29 October, 2017

Flowery Path

I will return you
to yourself in the twilight
of waning moon.

No more we will speak
in dark, to read the message
of holy night in pain.

A long way to reach
you in misty thoughts after the
priest breaks the vowels.

Something was certainly
wrong. Coffin was on way to
pick up the vessel.

Satish Verma


I will not have any
alliance with your words
I am lost in wordless thoughts.

Ask the dead phrases―
you repeat often. Like evil hydra,
new heads come out daily.

This is my domain, my
battlefield. The letters do not
take any shape. Dots speak.

I love the statue
of laughing Buddha. Melting
the pods of transmission.

You know that, you do not want to say.

Satish Verma

28 October, 2017

Mystic Paths

In alternative lies,
a which-hunt starts―
to find the blue eyes trapped
in amber.

Who will ask, not to
dig in the land of suicides,
without boundaries?

Behind you, were hidden the
rocks. The thin-lipped screams
would not reach the nests.

The color fades, when you move
in the sun. Survey
was futile for another truth.

Courier was walking limp.
Cherries were withering in moon.

Bare-foot a journey starts to collect
the salt of eyes.

In the crowd of swans― nobody
has found the water.

Satish Verma

Smoking Candles

Soundlessly steps move, in
midmoon― deleting trust.
Now I am the time.

You left your guitar
on the moving sands of beach.
Waves pick up the song.

Watching a seagull―
wolfing out from eye socket,
of a sinking fish.

A gift from a barbie
doll of tanned skin in nun's garb.
Please stand in hot sun.

Satish Verma

27 October, 2017

You Don't Tell Me

How much to live
for you in different ways
becoming just me.

My grief mixes with
the clouds to rain on the
wings of songs.

Chenille. Like lifting
your memories
with beautiful metaphors.

Nonverbally the words
fall on the roses,
without any cause.

I bring back the moons.

Satish Verma

Like Searching Some Heirloom

It came like a hail
of leads.
An avalanche of
frog words.

There was no apology for pods.

Living in a seed vessel,
was very precarious. It
splits open from both sides.

You stand naked amidst
the barbs.

Will ever the man will do god
to a man?

I come near the lake
when moon lives.
Something was wrong. He was
looking very thin tonight.

I was not prepared for the pink tears.

Satish Verma

26 October, 2017

Trashing The Skill

Veneer was coming
off. Tribal fear to fore, am
trying to figure out.

From where the light will
come, between the pain and heart?
I will wait and watch.

After paying debts―
I will wake you up. When it
was my time to leave.

There was an anti―
hymn on my lips, when light went
out. End comes to play.

Satish Verma


By the time you had
left the podium, you―
had turned gray like an
overcast sky.

Life was short like a
twitter. How do I―
call you from the jungle
of screams.

Do not go into the woods.
The nightingale sobs
quietly. Flight was good
but there was no depth.

Want to nix my day? Take
away my pen. I will write
a poem with soaring
flames of my heart.

Satish Verma

25 October, 2017

Becoming A Recluse

How much I know me,
I will ask you one day.

That was a symbolic
wish, if you were on moon
to celebrate your own death,
at the hands of unknown.

The deepest mystery was,
why must you live.

This was a culture of thriving with
make-ups. If you recite
a truth, you become ugly.

Hunted by lymphs and
nodes you cannot walk straight.
You turn back, when
the time of departure comes.

Hail the dead, who
licks the rock-salt in end.

Nothing else was real.

Satish Verma

Because You Count

The name. You were my
flesh, my bones. Forgive
me for this moment. I am
burning all my belongings.

Looking at small things,
weather beaten. I have
come back to pay my
indelible debt.

Darkness was always there.
Who am I to light the candles
in storm to glorify the thoughts―
the shrine of past sins?

Ichthyotic. I am peeling
off the skin, the dirt― the stains.
Want to stand naked, firm, rigid
and erect in my aloneness.

It was time to climb blood totem.

Satish Verma

23 October, 2017

In Hypnosis

I wanted to see you―
in leap of night,
when the dreams walk
like moon's center of pull.

A book keeper will ask―
where this revenge stops?
Like sex slave you submit
to the lust of the system.

How does one die inside?
A day after, when you surrendered
to a cheat under the sun,
a mocking bird started singing.

A paper hawk makes a―
dive in dry river. Sleepwalking
begins to collect the lost
memories with an empty bowl.

Satish Verma

Subject To Arguments

Blowing up a no-show
you walk out of
procession of primates.

Moon and memories
and million of years
to become a full being.

Cognition gained,
I touch the raw nerves
of liquid stones.

Roasted nuts,
I will taste you,
once I revise my vocabulary.

The laced stars,
one on one, I meet
the dark holes of your galaxy.

O god, at equal. I will
call you one day to
climb down from my shoulder.

Every age wipes out the footprints.

Satish Verma

22 October, 2017


What was that in your
eyes, which still haunts me in
evening of life.

You will not say, I
will not know where the story of
wailing song bird ends.

The first dark cloud of
Monsoon, becomes messenger―
of the young drowned moon.

Let's go and collect
the gifts of parting kisses.
Deliverance stops.

Satish Verma

Any Panacea

With a hushed tone
the shadow of the full moon
falls in the blue lake.

Stampede brings into sight―
another murky tale of fast
disappearing earth.

You must not hear of―
me again, at the pile of
gifts from the red Mars.

Knowing you in end―
to unknow my destiny of
walking on hot coals.

Satish Verma

21 October, 2017

The Other Periphery

Hurting yourself,
You won't say anything about
falling notches. It bruises, it

You will condole,
and like sundew, trap my poems
in backfoot.

Explicitly I will ask,
never stop crying.
Your neighbourly pain will descend.

Its lips become dirty,
when facial expression of moon

I want to change
my religion, drumming up
the nuances of refusal.

It wrongs you,
when an acceptance,
means never.

Satish Verma

As If Life Has Stopped

Why am I so sad?
I asked the waning moon.
The sun started flirting.

The vellum― still carries
the imprint, where you had
pressed hennas hands.

I came out once of
myself to look at me
from the falling star.

You would never know.
How had you cheated yourself once―
by praying for death.

Satish Verma

20 October, 2017

Against The Tide

Like a dwarf planet,
you follow me in distant
sky, so near― so far.

I love you like poet
Pablo Neruda. My eyes in―
your dreams, wide open.

When the tears would wait
to bloom like hidden flowers―
under the steady rocks.

Not me, not you, were
aware of the rising moon,
between snow and sleet.

Satish Verma

One Of Many Thoughts

Nobody was bigger than
your destination, you
were obsessed with the birth
of a new caste.

I was very angry
at me, to be myself.

We will not
meet at one dot
of separatism.

The arousal upsets
the mongrels. The wagging
starts liberally.

We will not exclude
the romance of delusion,
while interpreting the spirit
of the book.

Living by yourself
the inadequacy will
indulge in self adoration.

Where will I go?

Satish Verma

19 October, 2017

By Grace

I can only offer you small things―
like a coma,
a full stop.
or a hyphen.

To lit up the sparks
in visuals.
And no page was left unread
of my life.

Walk and talk
with me― to unsolve
the twisted humps
of times.

Your assets
had failed you.

You stand alone not to return back.

Satish Verma

No Primal Questions

Today you were
not you, sitting in your
cozy nest.

Talking of ethics
of pomp and rituals.

Your pageant was
fake. A disquieted observer
was being observed.

Everything is not true.
Sometimes human judgment fails.
You revert ―
to your native sense.

Morality again was nailed
on the stake. You are burned
alive for putting up the acoustics.

You hear nothing
because nothing was said.
A lull before the half-saints appear.

Satish Verma

18 October, 2017

Red Lines

In eternal quest
of peace I will find you one―
day in flowing tears.

Doors are reticent.
Blue stars were melting. Poverty
will take the back seat.

I promised you, I
will never hurt you even
in my wild dreams.

Take my hand to stop
the tremors of earth. The moon
was dying on naked beach.

Satish Verma


Mounting surveillance
on myself after snapping
hyphenated bond.

I will set you free
from the white paper, carrying―
your beautiful face.

The slanting eyes
will haunt me in dark, I will
turn around and cry.

When did rift emerge―
while playing the moons? The lake
was ready to drown me.

Satish Verma

17 October, 2017


Sometimes words
are very cruel. You
cannot chew them.

For the spirit of―
dying moon, you
wear a death mask.

Sitting on a wind cheater, in
tower of pain, you
want to understand the breed
of conflicts, fuelling the duels.

Yes or no, you have
to come with me. Stones
will not shame you anymore.

The black spots―
of dream-dropped roses,
smell of family dust in the
eyes of white ghosts.

You fatten the flames.

Satish Verma

Reprimanding Self

You must act now,
to deceive yourself. Laugh,
when you want to cry
in blue silence.

Getting ready to choke on
the unspoken words―
of committing a sin of speaking
the truth.

Unaltered ego of lynx eyes
goes through the walls of double-blinds.
The drugs were fake and
faith was dead.

With whom you want to
share the brickbats? The cheats
will ride the colossus and
the new moon will rise red.

Satish Verma

16 October, 2017

Great Leap

The stones will speak for
river bed― a perfect home
for drowned principles.

Like shrew you enter
the belly of jewels to talk
to a bronze Buddha.

He stands in vigil,
your godhead, after the thieves
plundered the frames.

The small hands pointing
the pistols at the heads of
ancient fathers.

Satish Verma

Winter Sleep

The dust to dust phase
in between, you
did't want a self-destruction
to resurrect a dying myth.

Only God knows. Why
there was only the body language
to explain the miracle.

You wake up a frog
from hibernation. There was
no drought. Plenty of rains.
No nightmares. One has to change
the climate shift.

A muted denial stays
in throat. You wanted to say
the whole truth about life,
which never was uttered.

Scoliosis tilts the water
balance. You cannot carry the
vessels on head. Doubts
would play on the script.

Author had promised to live again.

Satish Verma

15 October, 2017

After The Execution

Just wanted to be
myself today, ripped after
the apocalypse―

of stainless bodies.
You pull down the era of
earthen lamps from ruins.

Give me a wrapped
guilt. I am a boat in water
without wooden oars.

Black eyes stitched
to dolls. They were going to
wed the white gods.

A knife's cult invokes
the barren cave. You had planted
the severed heads.

Satish Verma

Lapsed Memories

Can you foresee the
future, the unstable peak, the
ground's underneath tremble?

A lonely moon sits on
the palm― watching the risqué
world go to long sleep.

I am nowhere in
this crazy― maddening race of
musical chairs.

Unsure, I meet the
blue eyes of the lake, ready to
jump into my leaky boat.

Satish Verma

14 October, 2017

Where Three Rivers Meet

Homeless, you
remained on the
wrong side of moon.

Trying to steal
yourself from light.

Now money speaks,
undoing Fabian formula.

Why one should exit
from the cabal of choosers?
Your infirmity will
sink you in wet sands.

When salvias were blooming,
you wanted to become
an accomplice of a sage.
Killing without crime.

Sometimes you fill
your life with meaningless words.
A trivia of hurting others.

Satish Verma


A romance begins
between a tall tree and grass
to lighten the land.

The absence of thrill―
makes you mad. You wait for the
sky to become red.

A cat has nine lives.
Each for redemption of an
enemy in the house.

Staying silent whole
life, unlike anybody else to
become ordinary.

Satish Verma

13 October, 2017

Mixing The Shades

Catching the colors―
of rainbow, altering sky.
You kiss me again.

The panic was real.
Confession of a lone wolf
enters twilight zone.

Strange undergrowth sends
misty feeling of raw wounds.
I sing my farewell.

Sorcery comes alive.
You tie my hands not to write
the violent sunset.

Satish Verma

Renewal Of Faith

At middle of nowhere
I don't want to believe
in your truth.

In white robes
a crowd, like mushrooms
of same genes, raising their
heads, after paying obeisance to
mother's mausoleum.

It was still a face
of terror, my trampled
future in our nemesis.

Was it a divine curse?
I remain, who I was. Unscathed
unharmed, after you left
before the knif's plunge.

The alternate damage was
mine. I will bear the asp's
bite in my glory.

Closing the door of
crypt was not my choice.

Satish Verma

12 October, 2017


Hips and the rose hips.
You bite your tongue. Desire
has many connotations.

You always feared
of a free fall. I rise. The
war will continue.

I permit myself
to talk to the waning moon.
The clocks stop taday.

A train whistles by.
The river trembles violently
under the bridge.

Satish Verma


Like the furled leaf―
with teardrop earrings, why you
will play with the winds?

The temple vestige
will invoke a forgotten god.
The dove circles in sky.

The history repeats
in desert of uploaded censors.
I become a narcissus.

The tremors return,
when I start drinking moon, from―
your glittering eyes.

Satish Verma

10 October, 2017

Repealing The Command

Like sheltered, as in fist,
the firefly―
my poem shudders
in your cavernous eyes.

You will not bend down,
to pick up the dropped
coin of moon.

A benign lump
refuses to melt for a
speckled beam of light.

The charred bones
of the burnt-out church,
wait for the second coming.

There was no
curtain drop. Everything
will happen before the weeping grass.

The father and son,
were both guilty― of killing
the mother moth.

Satish Verma


Leaving a bloody trail―
moon jumps into lake in hurry.
Sun knocking on doors.

Existing without
the soul, was a fatal mix
of lips and hamlock.

You write your name
on the decapitated moon
declaring a war.

Fireflies now dip
the sparks in your eyes, which
will become blue poems.

Satish Verma

09 October, 2017

The Grand Finale

Your night eats the―
umbel of light with curved lips.
What was the ethics―
of this getty image?

Your responses are weak. You
walk in, on unsteady path.
Will not lift the rock from the chest
unlike Sisyphus.

You roll down on lilacs
gnawing at my pain― nibbling
away at my poem. There
is no gender, there was no god.

The spilled milk of moon
now washes the face of night.
I become you in the embrace
of unlimited death.

Satish Verma

No Departures

A massive black hole
devoures the devdasi.
The temple becomes
a cadaver court.

Some say it was
less punishment for the sins
of the pulsar.

The dancing baby
in the womb of rubble
of prayers does not want
to come out.

It was a price of
dying intact.

The incense of screaming
roses blooms. How much
heavy was the wreath?

Overnight the image
was replaced. There was
no spinning wheel. Only
a water cistern.

Satish Verma

08 October, 2017

Silent Complaints

To remain normal―
how difficult it was. To undo
what had not been done.

A pinch of salt was
needed to taste your skin.
Belief will come later.

My unearthly lover, the
moon was becoming physical
sending me a lipless song.

Once upon a pain,
I had asked you to be, what
you were― my rival.

The uncanny fear, wins
over the whispers― when it
appears stark naked.

Satish Verma

Everything Was You

A poem dies in me.
I search for you again
deep in my breast.

The initial spurt of
the raging thought―
sleeps on the rags.

With scrawny fingers―
you write a verse of―
moon in night.

The half-moons rise
in the vacant looks
like venus flytrap.

Do not pluck the―
blood roses. My fingers
were still bleeding.

Satish Verma

07 October, 2017

In Burial Home

Not for me,
this politics of living
for sexless alchemy.

You take on―
the pen's broken nib,
writing blood soaked birth
of an illegitimate avatar.

The spin was fatal.
Unfazed a bizarre tone,
announces a miss call. You
are pronounced dead.

You will swim now
in veil. Eyes looking deep
in water where light does not reach.
The mission of salvaging a
heritage fails.

Dog winter.
Sun hides behind the thin survivors.
There was no will,
no suicide pact.

Satish Verma

Moment Of Hubris

the past, systematically,
you reach the core,
of undoing.

A curse hangs―
over the empty cup.
Now you can fill it
with tears.

Space shrinks.
Eternal memory of
losing your faith―
brings in the damaged truths.

Stick and carrot―
both survive.
It was not, it was,
the liberation.

Satish Verma

06 October, 2017

Green Fire

When I need something.
I will ask you.
But I was never going― to need anything.

From where this―
armoury comes, trying to
influence the vowels, from
the clenched teeth?

When I hold your hand,
you start trembling.
There was mist and
there were walls.

Are we drifting apart―
in search of moons?
Flesh for flesh, bone for bone? You
swim fast, I track on the land.

Satish Verma

Who Answers?

was the great avenger.
It takes you away
into war,
with swan words.

My baby poem
cries. Lost in a crowd of swindlers.
Not finding the home of truth.

Was it a rarified
phenomenon, that it was
a dark nebula,
that gave birth to the sun?

Are you free to
agree with me, with my existence?

The conclusion was
beyond the judgment of insane people.

Are you going to harm yourself
by accepting the fireball questions?

Satish Verma

05 October, 2017

A Window Speaks

were lengthening.

I start mending myself.
you commence telling in signs.

Grass flattened. Glass―
in water. The body floats.
The game was over.

A new chapter opens without a book.

Another spurt of poetry.
I will never forgive me.
Fear becomes my guide.

The sound of decapitation
resonates. I lift the pen
and kill myself.

Satish Verma


was deep blue.

In zero-reflux, I was
intimately involved―
with your pride. The conflict
was rising.

Human mind
like shutting off the sex,
was making a bibliography.

Purity of link will
describe a yellow hollyhock,
waiting to be crushed.

It becomes a burden
when I spend on you― my poems.
Chemotherapy had failed.

Satish Verma

04 October, 2017

Old Habits

I wanted to make
you my friend.

The combative
bull-taming on milk roads
was in vogue.

Somebody was talking
about the rape of
rising sun on the
higher reaches.

A marathoner stops
midway to collect the nails
after the bonfire of shoes.

The festivity over, you
can sing in the praise
of fallen black moons.

The gifts of crimes, for
bounty hunters, were in plenty.
I always stood in dark
to evaluate the triangles.

Satish Verma


The sins of mortals
have become ordinary.

You can breathe like
nekton, in deep ocean of
idyllic mind.

Pull out your hubris like
a tinkling coin and rub it with your―
body / let it become dirty.

The wayward emotion and
illuminati will meet for the
first time/on the turf.

Desire wins ultimately.
You pick up a red rose
and place it along the jasmines.

Acceptance comes after the fall.

Satish Verma

03 October, 2017

Escaping The Wait

Perfect domes―

An alien sitting in
Mona Lisa? Do you believe in the
pshyche of a beekeeper?

A vision. The future tense
retrieves the past glory of tenseless era.
The mimicry will do its own job.

A freak incident. Earth was
moving. Corned bodies riding on lead.
You must fill up the blanks to―
prepare for lethal descent.

Idolatry. Every cult becomes
a new idol. Hate-filled sermons.
Yestersins will pay
for the mortgage.

Satish Verma

When The Smoke Rises

Writing poems
on your lips,
fearlessly compromising
the Venus.

The pink, female
moonlets, trying to
stitch a womb.

I start a countdown
to launch,
a death paramour.
My severed hand
holds a yellow rose.

Preserving the―
half skull of artificial
intelligence, living
without you.

Meet me again
on the crossroads.
I want to change
the gender with you.

Satish Verma

02 October, 2017

Another Assault

Set free the water―
do not harm the spring.
A short poem will write your
theme in air, without asking.

The unbaked bread
will feed the oven.
And the silent prayers
will seal the lips.

The bride of desert―
weeps. No palms, no ariels.
You run over the ruins
to find the tools.

Now breathing stops. A
hammer strikes.

It was the tragedy
of a brainless tumor.
Aneurysm brings the stroke.

Satish Verma

Uprooting Dandelions

Eating a suicide tree's fruit
searching for the answers.

When I am me without you;
poetry meets an accident.

I stand on the shifting sands,
asking each stone, where
was my home?

In core of your earth, I was
the centrex with no message.

The white paper and black dots―
doors had become jealous.

No light falls, on the prayer book.
I apologize for my ignorance.

Satish Verma

01 October, 2017

Desiring Impossible

To own you,
was my fault. I wanted you flawlessly,
to choose, who lives
and who walks away.

Trying to discover
pure truth, the whole truth―
nothing but complete.

You start groping
for eternal globes, like Mars,
burning hot, but far away.

An aesthetic oneself, searching a duplicate.

The suffering of useless
phrases hurts. Your eyes squint,
wanting to tell, but don't betray.

Who will succeed
awakening the sovereignty of a wayward bard?
Who will pull down the moon
from the black sky?

Satish Verma

Fantasies And Myths

Bleeding the planet
between life and death.
O invisible, in time and pain
I want you.

Telomere― the capping
has failed. My genes are shrinking..
The acid burnt face still
smiles behind the fingernails.

The spurious drugs will
not allow you to pass away. Lip service
was too fallacious. You never
knew how difficult it was to die.

The night dissents. Day has
many upheavals. You stand alone
in tall grass to count the flames
engulfing the sunset.

Satish Verma

30 September, 2017

Midnight Shots

The bull's-eye on
your chest, the black marker
on death apparel, was
turning red after the shots rang out.
Somewhere in a golden cage a parakeet starts―

And which means, each grain
of the last portrait you―
made would inherit the color
of the dying sun. We were
martyrs bulled by milk of the
religion of the state.

After sometime there will be
no news of you. We will
forget, forget the footsteps
of past, our golds would bloom
in the garden of hate. The mystique
of palace will bask in glory.

Satish Verma


Listening to the voices of silence―
of beautiful triangles,
plagiarizing the
straight lines from nowhere
I lost my way to
find you.

I don't have numbers
nor zeroes. Only angles
to solve my pathless destiny.

In spiral mysteries,
would you ever climb the
stairs of a minaret, reaching moon?

You wanted a black rose
without barbs.

How does the blood flow without veins
on the cheeks of sun?

A hurt activist
disappears in the clouds
without wings.

Satish Verma

29 September, 2017

Pain Of Shingles

Hiding behind the faces,
you had pushed me to the edge.
Now Himalayas were weeping.

The self-mutilation
starts. Human body and mind
collide like tectonic plates.

There was no rape in
sacred marriage. Do you know the
anxiety and depression are not
only the human traits?

Psychosis. The obscenity
does not leave, and the language
starts dying. You block the
road. Nobody was going to leave
the doomed plains.

Satish Verma

Dark Presence

Blindfolded you wanted
to catch the moon.
It was no my fault.

The sounds first crushed the
strings and then came loud rumblings.

My darkness
was taking the revenge.

You knew because you were blind.

Cadavers. No names, after
cleaning the blood. You paint on―
the forehead. Quake.

Pushed upwards in seconds―
the absence. You were saved
because you were telling lies.

It was not an imagination.
Find out, who was―
omnipresent― no where?

Satish Verma