28 February, 2017

Scissor Hold

I don't want any applause.
Think. think on
what I have to say.

The morgue is full. Still
the bodies were arriving, of
all the dead innocents.

The son, daughter, mother and
father and grands.
What rituals you want to do―

to honour the departed, or
praise the killers?
The rigged notes on paper speak of mendacity.

Between the primates, man
was becoming the beast.
The stone, sculptor and ghost are one.

Satish Verma

After The Stampede

The dusk panics.
Molten ash stings, bearing
you down. Your enemy had penetrated
very deep.

Your pride shrinks.
Infinite pains from moonlit streets
climb up the palm trees
to count the dead.

You can not arbitrate in disputes
of wind and flags.

The night rolls down on the
battered past. Your face becomes
a broken clock.

Color-blind, you will never―
know the green recital
of the spokesman.

Satish Verma

27 February, 2017

Una Corda

This was not physical.
Which part of your psyche,
I would touch?

Sometimes you swing
without a rope. A chasm
appears, then vanishes.

Blindfolded you open
a death door to see the fall.
The deep pain bifurcates.

The distance was increasing
between clouds. A crack
of light burns the dark. Animals

You remember a yawn
of cosmos. Someone becomes a fever,
high as sun, in earthen heart.

Satish Verma


A wreath of skulls
you want to hang on the wall.

I don't want to
lose the skin.
The land was bleeding.

Mars mission. A very
lonely flight, pulls me down.

Do you have a
pearl knife?
Small talisman, you used to wear
when you were a child
to ward off the evil spirits.

A buttonless chest. The map
you drew on the torso was tense.
The woods were nowhere. Only
the dry sands.

I wanted to make a slit in the stone,
to release the holy water,
but it was only tears―

Satish Verma

26 February, 2017


You hide behind the words.
It was my priviledge
to start the fire.

Looking at the bare moon
in black sky,
you open the blue veins―

to explore the anatomy of
pain. Sometimes you want
to suffer in the hands of impossible.

Life wants its share of death,
when you were playing autumn,
frightening the lantern.

A nameless breeze offers
the whiff of a musk deer,
that lost the tree for scent-marking.

Satish Verma

Voices In Dark

I should not have been
there, where I am now.
The destiny was unscrupulously quiet.

Time goes in suspension
when I don't see you in me.

Flaunting the assets
of dwarf generation, you
kill the galaxy of stars brazenly.

Paraplegia. You break
the eggs in air to touch the placentae.

Twirled. I ask
the question, when your lips
will drown in stoned Buddha?

Out of reach, the honeybees
fly towards the virgin trees.

Satish Verma

24 February, 2017

What One Knows

Catching a glimpse
of moon―
in velvety October.


You collect a beetle
fossil. Then
man was learning to walk.


Same faces
in newspaper daily,
wearing me out.


rocks the earth.
Journey to sleep begins.

Satish Verma

A Dream Turns Into Desperation

Half acting you take
the broom for the journey
of doom.

In human odor, you find
a secret sin. In stampede
you may walk on the fallen bodies.

Between me and my, you
stand squeezing the lines
in holy script. There was no dogma.

Your image overwhelms
the prayers, insulting the
future of man.

Like amber encased,
parasitism, comes alive
with mass execution.

Satish Verma

23 February, 2017


You open me up
like an envelope without
a knife. No blood spills.

Like arriving from Auschwitz,
you embrace all my skins,
my incompleteness.

I would know, you
are coming down from the
attic to meet the unknown stranger.

Goosefoots. You are
crawling, hugging the remorse―
a clear submission anonymously.

Wrapped up, I give
you my heart, still throbbing
without the rib cage. The
night brings the red moon.

Satish Verma

Different Views

On the canvas,
I was drawing only the feet―
in run.
No heads, no torsi.

Was it a dark vision,
when you found the inert bodies,
crowding the summit?

Primates had already devised
the sponge, to gather up
the answers.

Geraniums become blind―
after their involvement,
in sorcery.

Making an inventory of
fugitives, no body was left at
home, when fire broke out.

Satish Verma

22 February, 2017

Small Thoughts

Ah, it was not a diamond
ring. In your palm was sitting
a god, watching you disintegrate.

Your hands, tell the
agony of lifting darkness, when
the full moon was rising.

The author speaks.
Not the ink, about the nomadic words
which have come to bleed on paper.

Tortured leaves of―
autumn are gathering to celebrate,
this side of the fall.

Like attaining the liberation
of sea urchins, reaching
the table to sip water.

There was no saliva.

Satish Verma

A Window Burns

Mind-set of fractured
faith, falters.
Now you want to ignore the god.

The bald cypress
hides the buttress roots.
Eagle was flying very low.

The clouds speak
in favor of sky. You cannot
heal the sun's wounds.

Flames are mine.
You burn the poppies to
float the arrogance.

Half burnt-out letters
of a lover, make a glory
of withdrawal of summer.

Satish Verma

21 February, 2017

Going Blind

Seething with agony.
the creatures were asking for
human rights.

Tracing the spiritual odyssey.
You have landed in a
volcano pit, looking for
the first autumn.

Smudgeless you walk in a
coal mine. It plunks. There
were spots in the sun. Bragging
was coming to the fore.

I am closing the book, not
to read again the drooling
script. Ages were harvesting
the tunnels.

Satish Verma


Consensual chemistry―
you were entwined with
a dervish.

Banana grove. A breather
for upside downs. Moons falling
from the sky.

A body sails.

You start wooing, clean
and genteel autumn―
for undisputed courtesy.

The fear of bliss. You
have a death wish. Empty chair.
You will not come back.

I think this is poetry.

Satish Verma

20 February, 2017

Moody Effect

When you were you,
me picked up the words-
you did't say.
You stir up a verse,

incendiary enough-
to start the chakras of sorrow.

Why to believe in
reincarnation, when carnations
in your eyes won't die.

A bloodbath for
believing in nothingness-
of innocence in the folds of time.

The seeds were in mode
of dispersal, of hate
and insults.The crowds were thinning.

A strange thing was going to happen.
Dark sky would descend
randomly to capture the speed.

Satish Verma

Pure Mundanity

It should not have happened.
But it has. For a god
of dreams, there was
no paradise.

You had become an alien
to your body. Split scenarios.
A fight going on―
between two selves.

Every morn, a shock comes,
a revelation pops up. You
fall, a victim of civil war―
in surprise.

The headlights on, you
were driving straight into
the bright sun to burn
your wings.

Satish Verma

19 February, 2017

In Stillness

A long night―
unending was,
the wait for the sickle moon.

shooting stars―
you are still breathing?

Doleful cry―
of the crickets. Why
the rain has stopped?

I was talking―
to the clouds
for a favor.

Satish Verma

Trying To Sleep

For a lake feel
to find the four-leaf clover
grazing your absence.

But the road does not run.
And I cannot reach
the wicked rapture.

Where the gray sky
meets the water's shadow
every wave weeps for the moon.

Like a dragonfly skimming
the import, floats on the
dampened page of life.

You will not be able to sleep
in this full moon.
The pilgrim hawk was flying
very low.

Satish Verma

18 February, 2017

The Will

When I asked you to
drop the millstone―
a bunch of dreams,
you wanted to move away from sun.

Building melatonin,
after visiting the shrine―
in dark. The deity has
started taking a both.

Helium― the noble gas.
How high will it take you,
in a balloon, which was rising
towards the Mars?

Crashed. I break into
pieces of terra cotta. I don't
want to leave the earth. Spread
my ashes on the beach.

Satish Verma


You were comfortable,
when you abused in native speech.
After the conviction,
there was smoke and ash.

Bring down the white plumes
from the volcano's crater,
and begin the swan song
for the sake of vanishing grace.

It is my turn now to
walk in penumbra, wrapping
off the dark core of human mind
and give a prelude to matephors.

Below the wings, the
trapped wind lifts the fallacy
of a fall when you were
already buried in a shadowless flesh.

Satish Verma

17 February, 2017

This Summer

The candle burns
your thumb.Night will
not contain the light.

How you will write
the beginning of a tragic tale,
when you don't know the end?

Your voice was buried
in the soundscape of howling winds.
No star was ready to lift the veil.
The shadows of unseen are legthening.
I cross your boundaries
to know my destiny.

The woods are smouldering
without sparks..My fingers are
singed and feet blackened.The unknown path
will receive your footprints
and you would start seeing
in the rage of night.

Satish Verma

The Wasted Charm

frozen relationship
between man and beast,
you want to thaw.

The god,
had become uglier
after throwing you―
in pit. Disbelief debates―

why to find the logic?
I wanted to become a period―
after commas and parentheses.
Who was great?

Nobody comes forward―
when you are beheaded amidst
the crowd, which goes into the
applause of life time.

Satish Verma

16 February, 2017

Just Meandering

In search of―
lotus flower,
you go in water.


The frog croaks,
sitting on


A lily with
dark pink flowers
for Buddha.


For a lotus―
eater, nothing else
was important.

Satish Verma

Hidden Paths

Autumn sets
deeper, after equinox. The
homesick moon comes close.


Was there any hope
beyond the darkness?
My hands are very dirty.

What was the maniac
pain of the sea?
No boat wants to sink.


Soundless was your
enemy in bush.
Why were you lamenting?

Satish Verma

15 February, 2017

The Great Leap

Playing a foghorn
for self-esteem,
is an ego trip.

The white tiger
mauls a cow,
beyond the audio.

You are shrinking―
now at the hands of
unqualified arms.

No need of any
funeral finale. The bones
are as white as the moon.

Satish Verma

Eternal Verities

Let there be dark
in your life.
One day, you will
be able to see the light.

Wind would sleep in the
earthen lamp during day.
Come evening―
tears will light the wick.

Hordes of moth have
resumed their sorties. Any
cruise of moon was

Not acceptable was hiring the womb
for manipulating the race. An
eagle dance, brings out the
savagery of man.

Satish Verma

14 February, 2017

Many Blues

Night begins
the self-discovery
with green and cream pills.

A binary existence
you would love to
break the myth.

The wind in the sails,
you are going―
nowhere in darkness.

All colors of―
midnight moon,
were for you.

Time will meet―
you in different masks,
to find the truth.

Satish Verma


Begins to reel,
the dusk,
down the street.

The grey moon waits,
solemnly, for the
music of earth to start.

There is enigma―
in dark. You see
the inside of a shut house.

Like the stone
eyes reading the heliograph
of shrunken gods.

Plunged into a gorge
your eyes, to find
the secret of a fall.

Satish Verma

13 February, 2017

Thinking Off

The clouds hang on the strings.
I cannot dry my eyes.

Picking up the pine cones, on grass―
one by one, as the years went by.

How did I lose my home again?
Were there not footprints in snow?

The caladiums, you planted in
summer, had the crimsoned spots.

Like the kirmizi sun
dipping in lake one night.

Satish Verma

What You Were

Cessation had no direct threats.
You had stopped thinking.

A shadowy future starts hating
you and your financial motives.

The September light falls on leaves
ready to go, yellow-brown-red.

You are still warm, still receptive
of the hollyhocks to welcome you.

A guiltless flight with singing birds―
homing to their mating abodes.

You want to arrive
without qualms, without fainting.

Satish Verma

10 February, 2017

Unending Rope

How will you be defining
a war, when you
meet without machetes?

Between real and fiction
lies a deficient bridge.
We will go for a walk to find―
the weak spots.

A dead city moves in its
entirety. You prepare yourself
to read the tea leaves.

The dregs were in power.
Why you were becoming schizophrenic?
Do not blow at the dead sparks.

How long the shadow now
you want to throw?

Satish Verma

Come Again

Intercepting the random
poems, pick not
the holy water, in your palm.
I cannot lift the words.

Dark bellies, in moon's
autumn, will play with flutes.
You will swoon on the
sight of blood at the hands.

It was not the first time, a
lamb in the midair―
falls on the golden spear of
new theme, to bluff the naiveness.

Somebody takes a turn, to
find the bell, which will not send
any sound, on the death of
the poppies.

Satish Verma

09 February, 2017


A textual study
of pain and bliss.
I was coming for a reprisal
from a temporal crisis
of intimacy.

Always gnawing at me,
the roll down from
love to hate. Which was
impersonating what, like
a talking parrot?

Soft murder. You will
half-die, poker-faced in
grey night under the full moon,
holding a poem
written for a black sun.

I shall never get
over my dilemma.

Satish Verma

Not Blameless

Whoso stills the
thunder, it was difficult
for you to lift yourself.

A failed past was―
asking for a date
with destiny.

What your gut bacteria
would say, when
it is raining hot kisses?

I extricate myself
from the shelled house
of pride against the risk.

Should I prepare myself
for the worst? Midnight
syndrome will attract the moths?

Satish Verma

08 February, 2017

Pain Of Hawthorn

Butchers were in panic.
The bulls are coming.

Dandelions were
in strike mode.
The Ebola dream
was competing.

Nobody there
sleeps in open.
The stink of dying
poems overwhelms.

Please make a
self-potrait like
Rembrandt nude
without a mirror.

There was no
night watch.

Satish Verma

Hacked To Live

He used to dream
of date palms, covering
the defended wounds.

The scoli crab after
the fall will stay. It will
not change the referendum.

The neuter will not
form the trinity. I will
not hear the signals.

Night was not yet
dark to explore the moon.
My stars remain faded.

O country, the people
O planets, the goddess
of rape is dead.

Satish Verma

07 February, 2017


Red horizon―
had bite-marks
of setting sun.

On the table,
I will place all my oblique wares
for a change.

You embrace the strange
things, horns and all. The
dissection was accurate.

A multiplex opens the
gates for all the
lipless gods.

The maddening silence
of the priest was

I will not come near the skulls.

Satish Verma

Blue Grace

Darkness always weighs heavy.
And light was weightless.
You were visible to me.

I was not sure, which
god went numerical.
I was carrying my scars.

It offers no solace
if I become you, and
start hunting the filters.

Let the moon rise in―
its imperial robe, in
praise of setting sun.

Satish Verma

06 February, 2017

Between Flesh And Soul

Under the pear tree
a rape survivor

Elsewhere a moon
was sailing in

Unsteady in human
chain, you wanted
to know, what―

was the logic
behind the savage

A curse becomes
a daily bread of the
tongueless victim.

How far do I go
to unearth the myths
of nodding religion?

Satish Verma

Carrying Scars

The prediction goes awry.
I wipe away an exotic
smudge on the paper.

I was trying to fight
venom of adverbs and

I want to retrieve my
poem, as it was― before
the digital onslaught of beheadings.

Give me my garden room,
baby moon and spotless
needles. My blood was blind.

I would come again in
my burial mode, when
your trenches are ready.

Satish Verma

05 February, 2017

Why To Think

Strange, in silence, I lose
my way, my thoughts.
I will speak.

The long roots were
than the myriad leaves.

A shadaw left
you in mid sun. No
one will follow you now.

The tree at last
enters your―
home in deep revenge.

Satish Verma


It haunts.
You still want to see the―
beheading, piecemeal
in borderless pain.
The war had defrauded my life.

An unsoiled moon
was taking depressed steps tonight.
Faith healing had stopped.

Floaters swim again in view.

A forbidden place.
You do not want to visit the
Blood-soaked turf.

Darkness enters
the poem.

Satish Verma

04 February, 2017

Comic End

The swamp was in
boil. It was raining
again on the open wounds.

The scissors will
play a dirty game. You
divide the river
in right and left.

Enough was the greed
when you follow the bun.
After the surgery, no blood
was left.

I will go.
You would sing in praise
of coolness of water.
It refuses to move.

Escaped the blast, the
sparks. You can sail
in bottomless boat.

Satish Verma

Earthen Dam

An earthen lamp
in loneliness
calls off the day.

After giving you
the golden light,
in its death.

Was it a pure sin,
if I touch
you in pitch dark?

Where the time
sleeps, I will meet
you under no moon.

Satish Verma

03 February, 2017


Teaching self the,
art of dying
after a serial failure.

Stone pelting has started.
You cannot hear your own voice.

Praying for the inaccuracy of time's arrow.

A physical dimension,
you will give to your impermanence.

And silent flows the glacier out of banks.

Clear fall, seems inevitable.
The sun rises from the debris of moon,
from drop on drop of watery eyes.

Satish Verma


What would you say―
if I shed my identity,
before the water enters the boat?

A cold-blooded,
culpable homicide, of the genius,
whom you gave your house
of cards.

Amidst the pathless windows
leading to no night
no dawn.

The ice bucket dramatics.
What message you want
to send, to thirsty small birds.

The fishermen sleep
beyond the echoes. No stones
were going to scream.

Satish Verma

02 February, 2017

Talking Of Love

Selene, the goddess of
the moon, promises―
not to fall in love.

Putting on hold―
the shrine, the statue,
going for sale.

No epilogue was
needed, at the end
of play; it starts again.

The painter was dead,
before completing the art
of defying the end.

Walking in ruins
for love of poetry, you
wanted the feel of the beginning.

Satish Verma

Last Journey

You wanted to be covered
with dahlias, unmeasuring―
the depth of tears.

How do I go finding
an elegy―
in dim moonlight?

En route I will pluck
the stars, in September.

And when the river goes in spate
and you are submerged,
I will spread a blanket of poetry.

Who wants the eternity
of soul. My love was very frail.

Satish Verma

01 February, 2017

The Blunt Clashes

The fractured core,
a broken faith, there was
no life after death.

The colossus was drowned
in white, stunning
the men in black.

You cannot encircle
the sun-spots with
bare dogmas.

The tear's salt is found
scrapped on lips, will not
find a place to sink.

How deep you will go
in the tattoos? The sun
wanted to check in the dementia.

Satish Verma

Dragging The Clouds

And my love, when do we talk
of wilderness
and daisy blooms?

The snakeskin―
twirls, and I watch the
wriggling night moving away.

I swallow the
empty words. They are not
heavy and no concoction.

The body and desires.
I have let then slip away,
my dreams, my knocks.

Against the dying of
blueberries in your eyes,
I will not wash the stains.

The curve of umbilicus
still remembers the dazzling

Satish Verma