31 March, 2017

We The Faithful

Blue moon of white night, wants―
to bring down the sky
in a spiritual bliss.

Talking of reincarnation,
I am skinned alive, like
a cadaver, talking ceaselessly.
You are burning sans fire.

In absence of god, you
become a god father
to a beautiful progeny.

Leave aside the lineage.
On the horizion, a flock
of swans was returning
home to spread the watercolors.

The recluse comes out from the oblivion
to greet the inevitable.

Satish Verma

Don't Alter The Red Cape

Black names―
were on list. Bring the
French chalk to wipe out
the white board.

The list was still breathing
though you had faked your death,
and the birds had left their nests
for new perches.

Does it hurt you, when
you go hungry? Even the grass
was green. The prince
was watching the apple fall.

Who will climb the
brown hills of moon, to
witness the earth drop in
withering trails?

Satish Verma

30 March, 2017

Different Versions

Let's try a
human logic for
a monkey heart.

The knowledge was
becoming a
dangerous thing.

I know and
you know that we
were sworn enemies.

Not like a
come as a bee.

Satish Verma

Still In Love

Stealing from your
eyes a visibly
upset moon.

I believe, it was not a
tough stand to shut the door
before wearing the mask.

You will not cry,
for my sake. You don't
want to grow old with the pain.

Who will have the last laugh?
Misogyny. Moon was changing the gender
from the west to the east.

On the lonely road
a peacock spreads the beautiful wings
and starts a dance.

Finding a mate becomes
a catholic thing.

Satish Verma

29 March, 2017

Not Like Anybody

Sometimes you want to
walk to the gallows,
for my sins.

It was a big fight
over the organ stop, but
I had a different version.

Living in mirror had
become a charm. At least
you were visiting me daily.

Like sniper fire.
It was a volley of bad names
for a nameless, nearer home.

In quest of fear to
understand the unknown, I
have sacrificed my birds of night.

Satish Verma

Engaging In Argument

No more partisanship
with hatchet.
Better if you come like
a scorpion to give a taste.

You can hang the darkness
of space―
daring the sun.

Gone blank. This was
a self-inflicted wound to
attain liberation.

No use to remain deeply
flawed in the jaws
of a croc.

Once, high you sail, for
resurrection, faith
tumbles down very fast.

Satish Verma

28 March, 2017

What Are Future Games?

Make me wild―
weirdly ethereal. An abstract
pain will unite us―
after the scarring.

It was difficult the body
count, lamenting
for the limbless faith. What
would you do with the
tinned sardines now?

The wasting must stop.
We are not able to catch the―
spring. Cold war was settling
in space. Where were new worlds beyond the stars?

I am still trying to―
write only three words verse.
Man was shrinking
and so was tall god. The
mooned eyes were closing.

Satish Verma

Opening A Window

You floundered.
No god poems.

You don't want to destroy the world.

Doing the things.
Lifting my words from―
the falls.

The implicit enemy
was in between―
the truths.

Nothing belongs to you.
Hence you don't lose the game.

Satish Verma

27 March, 2017

No Intimidation

A weird solatium
was offered by putting
off the lights.

The animal inside you,
wants to apologise
for remaining pure.

The pastoral grief of―
a wayward priest―
comes to fore to be stared at.

Lessons inspired by
light were waiting
for the dark night.

And a tiger mauls
a hidden lecher
in the deep bush.

Satish Verma

Under The Palm Moon

A broken step―
halts me. I move towards
you at the inner call.

Clockwise, going
sensual, you turn into
a greek fire.

Make me angry and suffer.
Don't carry the legacy
of dark peers.

Reading my poetry for
a while, you fumbled
tracing your fingers on some beautiful words.

The moon would
shine tonight to share the crocuses.
I may write your name
on scented winds.

Easy lips. Were your trying to say something? Yet
you fall on ancient adage.

Satish Verma

26 March, 2017

The Nightmare

Had wanted it to happen,
without me.

Remorse was turning against
the self. It was growing very large.
You could feel the enormity of a
suicidal microcosm, enveloping you in its borrowed light―
and rugged terrain.

The peace― it was absolutely absent
in the myriad stars, earthen lamps,
the ethereal beauties of unspoilt hymns.

The spirit was gone. It was all
a floating skeleton of man searching
for the real legs, natural eyes, and
a roving heart.

I wanted to pause, in the penultimate
explosions, when the tornado
dies and I would wake up.

Satish Verma

Pangs Of Truth

There was nothing to hide.
No jewels, no gold. I
wanted, to get the replica of afterlife.

Meet me in some moonless night.
I will show you a slice
of my bruises, offering it as
my panacea.

You were hurting yourself
invoking the baby god
on the night of lights.

It was hallucinating,
stabbing yourself in a
virtual suicide.

As the last rites started,
you got up from the funeral pyre
and walked away.

Satish Verma

25 March, 2017

There Was No Answer

I cannot understand you.
You walk straight
into enemy's den.

The skin peels off. A naked
boom. Silver domes
turn black. Ethanol drips
from eyes.

Praise the God. Tears
become poetry. Moon dances.
No door opens in bleeding night.

I ask for the lips. It
is for death of the priest,
who would not accept the streak of sin.

Until you become hot.
Flashes of fireflies have
become longer. Tail to
tail the message will betray the address.

Buddha takes his own time. There was
no light between the dark hills.

Satish Verma

There Was No Prelude

A poet's dilemma.
You cannot think straight,
cannot walk straight―

In grimaced face, one
eye patched, there stood a deliverer
with raised hands―
bringing down the empire of
a baby king.

You walk out of the painting
mutely. The king was
ready to be laid down for the
poisoning effect.

Was there anybody to
explain that why the dynasty
falls one day and the
poet wins the broken fort?

Satish Verma

24 March, 2017

When The Attack Comes

Like a tantric I will
gather you and make you sleep
in my eyes.

In lantern festival, I
will be fighting dark
with hundred wicks.

The dead will come
back to talk about their
amputated thumbs.

You had no bona fides
to tell me how blue were
my aches.

I don't find any metaphor
in this qualified decay,
wiping my glasses to see clearly.

Satish Verma

The Hidden Sky

In my sanctum,
you walk in― like
my first child, to join
my innerness.

Trying to decipher―
the moral code of angels.
I just wanted an embrace
of a flame to kiss the sparks.

I hear your footsteps,
sometimes near, sometimes far away―
in the valley of burning tears.
This space and, a gouge hold the
secret of melting lips.

Still unborn, a voice in
cul-de-sac, waits for the grievers
to open the darkness―
for a ray of light. It was very
lonely where you had scripted the clouds.

Satish Verma

23 March, 2017

Sketches In Coal

Where sand becomes
silver, you cower
under a palm.

A birch tree
beacons you to write
the fall of man.

All day you wait
for a miracle.
It never happens.

This autum, I will
worship a naked tree.
A toast for dying moon.

Satish Verma

Silence Speaks Loudly

It weeps ritual.

A spiritual walk
on the spikes. Heartache
to meet life daily.

Shadows beat
on the floor. You wanted
to catch the sun
in water filled vessel.

No silver king,
no coins.
You would never worship
the riches.

Forest of protests
grows. Journey steeps
in pain.

You come close to edge,
fall, rise, stand erect
to face the dark.

Satish Verma

22 March, 2017

Nothing Happened

Talking off the runway
moon― being you, a
gut feeling takes over.
You will not stay overnight.

Not cool enough, I was
learning in your calm, becoming
lynx-eyed shooter―
from panther.

Juggling the phrases,
the meltdown begins. A
bridge collapses. Stampede.
Mass panic. The train will
not come today.

Let's go and walk in a
sunflower field. Do you― love
Van Gogh? His studies?
‘A Starry Night ‘ and his interpretation
of self-violence.

Rest of life. I am going
to walk with a hurt.

Satish Verma

Lips And Wordless Miracle

What if the sword
leaves and purple eyes
of Iris become apocalyptic?

It would be for me― the arrow,
leaving from the arched
bows of goddess of rainbow.

Wearing a tiara, of
golden lotuses, in eerie morning
the sun was rising.

Dawn commits a
genuine sin. Wakes me up
to dig the past for bones of faithless truth.

The silent ocean has
a job to do. Turn me blue in
iced mercy without any smile.

Baked and browned, the
priest, marries a virgin to a ghost.

Satish Verma

21 March, 2017

With Apologia

Nothing other than,
he was hearing―

Nude was not au
naturel, like
a new born chick.

he walked bare foot.

Giving away the
canvas, you are
blissfully happy.

Satish Verma


Tends to droop,
the narcissus, after
shedding the tears.

Per minute, you
were drawing
a self-portrait.

In water,
your image splinters
in thousand names.

Holding the―
earth on your neck
where would you go?

Satish Verma

20 March, 2017

Truth Hides Behind Sun

Let go the nightmares
and oneness,
and climb down the deep―
stairwell to find your image,
in seething rage of quiet water.

It was not very hot
to raise the fever of native pain
in your legs. The delicate
heights of golden peaks you
won, slumber― when you discover yourself.

Poem matters in black ink,
on white paper which bloats
in self praise. The world
trembles in earthquakes of sermons.
Fauna and flora are turning back.

Enough to snuf the guts.
You don't love the parting.

Satish Verma

Like Buddha

Light of dawn.
Day begins with
blue memories.

I sweep―
the floor, of mind.
The palm stands witness.

does not believe in

Don't get mad
at dragonfly.
It cannot stand still.

Satish Verma

19 March, 2017


I resent.
Will remain that
I am.

No fissures. Frozen
mind. I am not thinking.

Peeling off the day
layer by layer. Fear
refuses to cross the street.

Not becoming.
Not carrying any weight.
The journey collects only―
the names.

No peaks. Restraint
I say to dark. Light
was waiting.

Satish Verma

No Criminality

Paying back the debt
of virility. A lame duck
hobbles on the moon.

As far as, you can,
travel on my body, to―
catch the boat.

River was on spate,
sinking the groves,
bushes and fireflies.

Don't walk on
the clouds. You will fall
violently, when it rains at night.

The globes rotate
the world. You come back
to the poles, from where
you started.

Satish Verma

18 March, 2017

Night Night

Like a vampire,
night swoops down.
Temple bells ring.

I am happy―
not to invoke any god.
Crickets share my muse.

The tall minarets,
stand erect in dark.
Muezzin gives a call.

My friends long
dead, would come and
talk ceaselessly.

Satish Verma

Not True

A pigeon
flutters, in my frail―
chest, ready to fly away.

The train does
not stop here. Why
do I keep standing?

A man dies in
a blizzard. You
need to pay for it?

What was the
hallucination? I
was living for a lie?

Satish Verma

17 March, 2017

You Want To Be Born Again

In evening I need
to speak with my small voice
to fill my dreams with moon.

Buried alive in the brick―
wall, a frightened poem

I will meet you, my muse―
in your space, without any pang,
though the road has not ended.

Drinking the dark
wordplay with no qualms
at the virtual rise of doom.

The fireflies, with their
breasts aglow, were ready to conceive
the radical ultimate.

Satish Verma

Morning Mist

A complex question―
it was. Why your
hands were trembling?

The body becomes
a kayak. You were sailing
alone in the lake of bluebells.

Elegy and epilogue
become one. I have come
to meet my humming bird.

Still suspended in
deathless space, the sun
wants to hide.

The revelation
was not to solve the enigma,
but to listen to inside.

Satish Verma

16 March, 2017

My Pain

Falling in green love
with yourself―
creating violence.

Serenity has no relevance
now. The edge was
asking you to go for a jump.

Nil tolerance. I was
fighting with me, veiled
in uncertainties.

Listen, Here lies the
crux. Nobility forgotten, I ask
who failed whom in this age of betrayals?

The evil grows. Shapeless
truth was running in fog―
and now the dragon rises.

Satish Verma

An Unasked Eulogy

It will come back to you
again and again― the thought
nudging through the magnolias.

Without telling you―
the creamy pink― waxy smell of
the death of the guiding light.

I am lost anew
at the center of conflicts
between earth and moon.

The unspoken pain
of the aroma undrafts
from the fragrant words.

Life folds the hands
at the chest before cracking open
the yawning chasm.

I touch you without any meaning.
No eyes. No ears― miming
secretly the footfalls of shadows.

Satish Verma

15 March, 2017


Faith bluffs―
you. Makes you deaf,
dumb and blind.

You don't get,
what you give. In
return you seed roses.

Was there any
choice, in writing
your destiny, other way?

The remains were
still beautiful
after the fall.

Satish Verma

Facts Of Life

The decay has―
killed the dream songs,
of shut mouths.

Trees were rolling
down on beach
when hurricane collapsed.

It was raining,
carbs and limbs, when
clouds gathered.

You love the
potholes, underground
caves, to hide cardinal sins.

Satish Verma

14 March, 2017

The Seeds Of Our Lips

I will come and meet
you in absence of past.
Why to open the window
to moon. I was not right,
not wrong.

Incensed in endless emotions
by default. I still love
my muse desperately, when you
come and go
in between the verses.

The time bars you
in moments, in twists of puzzles.
You don't make a move,
don't fold your wings,
and cast your spell in the shadows.

The lost sun of my path,
sends the fresh, full moon― between
night and day to blend the pain
and ecstasy of rapture, of knowing
the depth of holy lake.

Satish Verma


Absolutely zilch.
Sometimes you feel―
nothing moves.

Coming out of
remorse, there was no
confronting power―

to reason. Even
time freezes in your pen,
ink evaporates.

The blues, become
a sacred cove, where
a lake would take birth.

And a speaking
pain will embrace your
sinking boat.

Satish Verma

13 March, 2017

Autumn's Harmony

Moon crazed fonts
starting a genocide of words
in narcolepsy.

Don't ask me about the amphetamines!

The letters have gone crazy.
No discipline,
no shoes.
They run wildly barefoot,
make you feel a victim of curved lips.

There were no afterthoughts―
about the massacre of essence,
of message, gist and substance.

You stand alone in jungle
of books, unprinted, unspoken
of, finding the
sequence of life.

Satish Verma

Soothsayer Has Nothing To Say

The bird of prey
had the dignity. With
hooked bill ant sharp talons
he sings the victim―
a death.

Salt was invented
by faithfulls. Petunias would not betray in summer.
A bleeding heart cries
before the adversary.

The stones regret after the
lithographer left. There was
a fault in design. Shards in the ink;
You cannot kiss the script.

The perforations
leak in pain. Something obstructs the void
I have come afar from
the lies. There was no truth in peace.

Satish Verma

12 March, 2017

No Dues

the time zone, clock
refuses to rewind.

The brain shuts,
absenting the self.
No seeing no hearing.

The street,
resuscitates you.
Train whistles to take you away.

What home?
There was no destination.
You will not reach anywhere.

Satish Verma


Sheer drop of lightning
takes the brown
land by storm.

The cult grows―
in the hills for
the wolf to stay.

There was no healing
ceremony after
the snake bites.

The bodies are revered with thyme,
when the moon
dips, before dawn.

The natives
were ready to abandon
the glory of man made world.

Satish Verma

11 March, 2017

Three Vistas

Do not count.
Do not return my poems―
written for you,
in memory of hot pink
flamingoes, that had not returned
to their abodes.

Flashbacks. Fear of colors
arises. You shut your eyes.
Idolatry soaring. Night
will ask the stars. Why am I
carrying the burden of a rock
on my shoulders?
Moon laughs.

You stay quiet,
will not commit any kill.
A train whistles by. Evening
plays a thief, stealing your demeanor.
Inside you burn. No smoke was
coming out. No reference―
to smiles and tears.

Satish Verma


Almost reached.
Your tongue slips;
Then you fall.

The cyclone,
develops an eye, to hit.
You become blind.

An outcast―
became a star
in dark sky.

Why the elite,
of choice or exhibit―
wants to wear rags?

Satish Verma

10 March, 2017


You tie a
sacred thread to
the hollow tree.

That walks around
in search of
a morose Buddha.

The world
has gone beyond
the suffering.

A square, a
circle, a dot?
Who are you?

Satish Verma

Always Self-Deception

You collapsed―
on the stairs in frenzy
falling into a debt trap.
The moon was asking back his pain.

This was a naked aggression.
Kitchen was not ready for roots
and flowers and footprints
of staggering price of being alive.

Riding in a Humvee, the
rhetoric fails. The lies become
spiteful. Your arms holding
a wavering testament.

Religion of sending
a young legate of death, to veiled
untouchables, to spread
the glitter of bones and red meat.

A gift of asking to become
blind, nothing less.

Satish Verma

09 March, 2017

Midnight Happening

You never forget
the fat preemie.
A perfect revenge of the curse―
at ungiving.

Streaking in
snow, when it
was frighteningly dark.

The moon-bathed
body of the thumb king
running without feet.

How would you―
climb, the black hills
of desire in tragic land
of skulls?

The living god was to
become a marbled statue.

Satish Verma

Soft Music

I open the book
too stoned
to read my name.

Like a feather,
you roll in
sleep, painless.

The milky moon
was still. Shadows
were trembling.

Mushrooms in
mist, wake up
to stand in circle.

Satish Verma

08 March, 2017

How Much Does It Matter

You were not choosing
the right words, being reticent
for a seasoned yes.

The hurts of intimate
symphonies― don't bleed.
Only scars were left in triangles.

The chilled morality
of summer stream, was eating
away the banks of amnesties.

It was a sublime touch
of unseen fingers moving into
the trees and sky of dark spaces.

Days were slipping
away. I cannot put my
memories on flame.

There were explosions
on the crossroads.

Satish Verma

What Renunciation

Would you bear the cost
of peace, if there was
no war, no country, no
personal gods?

We are not talking about―
a retropain of recent past.
It was there when we―
started walking, and
discovered a superhuman being.

The crowd swells every day, and
a new religion crops up
every now and then.

There was no fatal crash.
It makes you rich overnight.
The money grows―
from the barrel of the gun.

I refuse to celebrate the victory.

Satish Verma

07 March, 2017


Your algorithm
has failed.
There were colossal mistakes.

It brings back
the memories of
counting on the fingers.

A moon, a river
and a night, had
fallen in love for ever.

Why not a langur
should now be
declared a person?

Satish Verma

Captive Of Conscience

You shut to it―
the window, on watching
a row of walking stones
without feet.

in a mile of tears.

(A pink lotus spills
the colors on water)

Let me talk
to my wilderness. The
script was incomplete
in shadows of greyhounds.

You crawl on the grass to find a four-leaf clover.

Satish Verma

06 March, 2017

The Dialogue Continues

My logic
was not a part of belief.

The answer you proffered is
not, what it was
supposed to be.

The question sits like a
butterfly on my chest.

It was a sham exercise
to wipe out the dirt from the eyes.

Life, death and the
unknowing are the failures
of man.

I am ready to repatriate
my end from the noose, for
not accepting the award.

Satish Verma

After The First Moon

Reigniting blood moon,
I have come to
seek my abdication.

After a long haul of
dark clouds, I come face to
face with my failures.

My experiments with faith
and disbeliefs did not help
to understand the mysterious self.

Now the significant hurts have
become my strength, accepting
the challenge of changed winds.

I meet you O god―
midway, one day to
settle the scores.

Satish Verma

05 March, 2017


Sperms and legacy.
You scream for the justice
for the space between words
and sentences.

I don't want to be separated
from my half-eaten moon.

Without a dance
your anklets have broken into songs.

Someone commands me―
to sacrifice my pen.

Hallucinatory- be seduced for the sake of fashion.

In anguish I watch
the terror was becoming a religion.

Do you hear the voices
coming from the crypts?

Satish Verma

Pardon My Darkness

You always said, violence
was in you. Everything was dying

There was a tacit understanding―
interceding with―
a lasso. The baked silence
always stares at you.

I have no praise,
no condemnation for anyone.

Inevitably you suck the moon,
your thumb,
your blood.

A poem falls on the ground
to breathe again.

Satish Verma

04 March, 2017

No Time For Mourning

Without shadow
an agony, slits me open.
As when I bleed.
I write a poem.

It hurts,
when you touch the words,
the lines, the paragraph―
the page.

From teaching
to be a learner―
a long odyssey from―
innocence to scream.

My namesake, my akin
dies daily. I dig a mass grave
to find my twins,
where the god lived.

Satish Verma


Like a lingering doubt,
the moon stood on the maple tree―
for a relationship.

For my sake don't take a
downside, my liberalism
will suffer.

Killed in your own house
by lightning, have you
ever heard of self-immolation?

Let's make it simple.
Take it from the giver,
what he never had― and
don't ask the price.

Your eyes again befell
a giant. How would you live
without the fireflies?

Satish Verma

03 March, 2017

To Man

The city was going to
fall. An earthquake?
A flood? No it is war.

Money making and
crime. Two things are
left in my coffer.

Man made had
become better thing than
god made.

Mars sends another
image, of this side―
of the man's earth.

Satish Verma


Autumn moon―
in full grace. I have
come out to say hello.


Everything was in
order. A stunned silence.
The cuckoo gives a long call.


Long ago, such
was the night. I
wrote my first poem.


My innocence,
intact― I still feel
my stupidity.

Satish Verma

02 March, 2017

Et Tu?

Like half-brother
moon was following me.
Tonight the dethroning commences
on the murderous hills
of faith.

You grab a snowcloud
to refuse what you would be.
The animal that lives
in you has become silvery haired.
There was a terror of being isolated.

Earth was dying in me.
A bloodied machete―
travels across the lands,
riding on the tears, screams
and disembodied peans.

Lifting a sacred book
the hand trembles involuntarily.
Is it the homicide of bright sun?
Et tu, O man?

Satish Verma


You were not listening,
when I said―
" After offering my head,
I will go into deep sleep "

Coyotes were gathering. The
prairie was on fire. Under
the feet, the smoke was bursting.
You had started eating your toes.

Carrying the burden of unsavory―
reputation, the books were not
telling that time has stopped
and no lyrics were left in religion.

Sometimes in night, I will
hear the soft notes of a flute,
when, moon was rising and
muse will come and I would ask

" What was the need of inventing the hell? "

Satish Verma

01 March, 2017

The Jealous War

It was very edifying.

When you shut the mouth of
the oppressed―
the mass grave speaks.

The widow was still mourning,
after the causality of my belief,
my psyche, my rights.

You don't make me, then
how can you break? What
was the height of fall,
will you let me know?

The volatile words are now
losing their import. No
real, only cosmetic display.

Let the celebration of
bold death begin.

Satish Verma

Mode Of Dying

Brutal. Another lover
too. Four-letter words kill.
A self deception begins.
You shut up in yourself.

From meaningless trivia you
want to extract peace.

The leather was becoming feminist.

You can eat your partner
if conflict increases.

Will you like to read Camus
again? Especially- The Myth of Sisyphus?

The humming birds are
disappearing. No trumpet shaped flowers.

Half-naked in beachdress―
a truth was swept away.

Satish Verma