31 July, 2017


A dynamic kill,
when you start crystal―

Were you a participant
of an organized
rape of the planet?

Your roots drop,
as you gamble with the
change of coins. It would
become a stillbirth,
of a seaisle.

Telling lies has become
a lucrative job.
Are you going to buy immortality,
in the bazaar of bazookas?

The blast cells were
rising. There was intense
pain in my thighs. Blood
was turning white.

Satish Verma

Translating Death

Dancing on the trembling
flames, virtually
remaining calm, I was just
watching your hands― the palms, and
only the stance of pointing fingers.

I mimic the death
in a cage, burned alive―
or beheaded by a black night
under the moon. One digit added
to the depth of an ocean,
which has no shores.

One day, you will forget
me, walk away from the hand-written
beautiful calligraphy, describing the agony
of man, who would not drop
his pen, even, tyranny tearing away
his limbs.

Satish Verma

30 July, 2017

Dead Lips

Flesh by flesh
bone by bone.
I am tired of your religion.

The fake rituals―
to anoint the sins.
Meanwhile someone will execute
the pollen heads.

Blackbirds will come
and go in the corridors
of power to get the plums.

After a murderous day
slowly the moon
rises, to wash out the
dark stains of earth.

Satish Verma

Path Of Rising Star

You started parenting
a blitz,
against my nest.
I am bleeding on my lines.

It is hurting
me a lot.
Like breathing in chlorine.
The mercury rises, falls.

Towards unknown blues,
you took a dive. I cannot
read the signature―
of nemesis.

Would not find a
kindred spirit. I was trying
to follow you in dark.

The story does not end
here. Back to antiquity, did you
believe in a second cousin
of moon, that were you?

Satish Verma

28 July, 2017

New Religions

Pure kill.
I pull out the shivering
heart in my eyes.

A rising sin. I will
not forget you, never―
your tongue bifida.

And a real―
murder of a blue-green cow
reared for religion.

That sucks. The
numbers, the lies and
the terrible abuses.

The shadows are
lengthening and you were
becoming small.

Satish Verma

After The Sunset

Night was young.
Shameless moon
wanted to talk to me.

Will do what―
I was not supposed to do,
holding back the tears.

We had killed
ourselves with indelible scars
for a puppet show.

rind of bloody orange in
the eyes of severed head.

Satish Verma

27 July, 2017


It was a quaint
feeling. Something was
going to happen.

I had asked the fading
moon, are you going
to die?

Fear was going to
win, it said. The blues
are approaching.

Do you believe in
probables of phobias?
The killing of big hugs?

No mercy for the
obsession of noisy celebration.
A god was changing the gender.

I forgive the fire,
forget the light and
start embracing the dark for a bang.

Satish Verma

You Love Yourself

The beast
draws a circle for
winter, untelling.

You climb the frozen
falls, to reach the moon
in gray.

The treachery
in domes was evident.
You get the twisted cones.

Under the shade
of stars, you start the
fire to ignite the limbs.

Satish Verma

26 July, 2017

Enormous Precipice

Ah, the statecraft of
present times, was becoming
The strength of institution
would lie in old oil paintings.

You become stupid
and start living in dark rooms
to understand the sun.

Half-beliefs were―
cooked straight from the
sermons of striped coats.

The delusion was
simple. There was camphora
to revive the fainting glory.

Satish Verma

Only God Knows

There was no respite
from the repeated assaults.

When did I ask you to move
slitherly with words?

A straight delivery
was needed to refrain after
the collective suicide.

There was a conspiracy theory
that a super moon was
going to drown you
in honey.

Now you come back
to seek pardon and then
start destroying the truths
with impunity.

It was an intrigued
home coming
with braided locks.

Satish Verma

25 July, 2017

Dying To Unsay

A lesser person walks
in the dead man's street
to meet his metastasized
oncocytes to,

kill for the sake of kill,
death for a song that was
not there.

And you will keep wearing
the explosive vest
which will not go off.

Luteum. The color of
spring spreads. No prolactin.
Milk has dried up,
and so the tears in the eyes.

Satish Verma

Dying To Unsay

A lesser person walks
in the dead man's street
to meet his metastasized
oncocytes to,

kill for the sake of kill,
death for a song that was
not there.

And you will keep wearing
the explosive vest
which will not go off.

Luteum. The color of
spring spreads. No prolactin.
Milk has dried up,
and so the tears in the eyes.

Satish Verma

A Sacrifice

Your face becomes
an eye, a saga of
holding the assaults.

A body hails
the sagacity.

A child becomes a man
away from home
of truths, god forbids.

The innocence gives
rise to a mound of bones.
Death lingers to
take revenge.

Brutality breeds
brutality. Can anyone
break this cycle by giving
one's life after receiving the award?

Satish Verma

24 July, 2017


It was a direct hit,
meeting an immaculate
moon tonight.

Was it possible― that
a star flew off the sky
to undo something?

I was the mist,
and I was the sun.
Describing the accident―
not the truth.

The molester.
Time, steps out taking a big
chunk of life.

Unhinged, a messiah
drops dead―
at the door of equity.

How vain, was the
ego of man!

Satish Verma

In Darkness

Talking to Morpheus
when moon was asleep.

I was not guilty of
waking you up.

In splinters, the man
goes deaf and dumb.

A violin was thrown
on the track to stop the music.

Death becomes a finger,
points at you.

The rodes become blind.
There was no D-Day for exit.

Satish Verma

23 July, 2017

Crazy Thoughts

A blighted ovum
demands a ransom for life.
Unhinged, you rub with―
the command and
set free a poem.

Some very visceral fears
hold your hand and
ask to write an epitaph
of yourself.

Unboiling the egg in
irreverent manner, you
proceed to make death,
out of eternal entangled questions.

The sheer stress unmakes
you into a creator
and you begin to spawn
a new religion of violence.

Satish Verma

Singing In Dark

Will I know you―
by unknowing myself in bleak―
moments of giving
wings to you?

Raising your legacy; losing
my words, I block
a masterstroke. Something
was wrong. I was walking alone.

Disrobing a covered
statue, the anguish of
incorrectness hangs.

Enduring a song of―
drums, calling the sun from clouds
for a wounded earth.

What was truth
in jungle of beasts? Any
humming left on the lips of trees?

Satish Verma

21 July, 2017

Winter Backdrop

An earthy scent
rises, when―
you rain in me.

The hole in
heart. Naked
as salt of eyes.

My roving boat
sinks near
the banks of ashes.

Pure and white
like snow
you fall on my lips.

Satish Verma

Present Life

It is.
What you don't think,
and don't want to share. Nothing.
Kamikaze― divine wind
destroying your crotch.

Saffron― dried stigmas.
The hiss of a dead shake,
kitchen's flavor for celibates.

Many roads to reach
the mannequins. God is
one. Hydra's tentacles catch
the believers.

I won't taste the violence
of celestial bamboos.

Satish Verma

19 July, 2017

The Great Dilemma

Break your silence.
Stay for me.

Face-to-face, after
my first inning,
prey for me.

To know the whole truth
I will change the

The fake reals,
would become the change,
you never wanted to see.

Smitten by your verses
I was in distress. The
sexless army of thoughts
stand in snaky queues―
beating the big gods.

A nickel for your
eyes. Why they have become

Satish Verma

Against The Current

That mad truth.
The unborn was knifed
long back. Now you throw―
the net in the crowd.

I had found you
after the centuries of conflict―
in small eyes, looking
for the stolen myths.

I want to hold your
face one day and bury it
in my tears. It should not have
happened in the jungle
of jinxed plays.

The unmarked tree. I
had picked up the fallen fruit
to taste you. Would you
find me in dark?

Satish Verma

18 July, 2017

In Misty Day

Moment of truth.
on grass.

A visible absence.
I was searching―
you in poems.

Your fluid eyes.
My moon-clouds
ready to crash on the land.

In my cupped hands
I collect the tears
of the sky.

Satish Verma

Who Had Spoiled The Show?

Muzzle the ape, that
bleeds the tall tree,
tearing apart the blue birds.
I saw it coming.

I was overwrought; watching a
beheading― of the innocent,
in the town square.
People standing in queues to
grab the voodoos.

When you will end my woes
basking in the glory of blood?

O god, take away my chips,
my papers,
my pen.

I am tired of this deceit of man.
Everybody walks like a saint
on the holy banks
where flows the river of tears.

Satish Verma

16 July, 2017

Searching New Phrases

In twilight
the sickle moon,
waits for the dark.

What a kill.
Roses in bloom
watch haying.

Halix of life
uncoils, to warm
the man.

The butterflies
shiver in sun.
Fine weather.

Satish Verma

This Myth Of Life

Today I am alone―
with myself,
not even with wet eyes.
A corona intends to go into flames.

Stars unaligned―
where was the need of the god
to commit a failure?
The ruins must stay for ever.

Hurtling towards the sun
you wanted to know― why black scorpions
live in the flares of light?

Nothingness bites you. The
despair hurts, because you wanted
the freedom to die without
inventing the Deity.

My guilt should not be identified.

Satish Verma

15 July, 2017

From The Flames

Under your eyes
shadows, my poems curl up.
When do I call you?

From wires, tiny drops
of dew hang perilously.
Sun was going to kiss.

First I take you, then
I will cry for the last time.
Going to meet the gods.

Satish Verma

Snake Dance

Silence was so loud―
a pain ago, would you
resume me now,
between a scion and stock.

The sap had dried up.
A tiny human inside a pen
draws the borders
of bleeding lacerations.

Black mouths,
confront the grizzled gods.
I want them now
in water.

Suicide of a fig tree was
evident. It had eaten its
own figs. No leaves
were left now.

Satish Verma

14 July, 2017

Who Wears The Mantle Of War

I will pick up the dust in
a swift scoop-from where
the stars fell and step out,
of the shadows of light.

A détente begins, between
the limbs and eyes, to hold
in check the flames
licking the doors.

How far was the moon
beyond the money's reach? The
man has bared the―
earth's womb, with skulls questioning.

The sucked out blue lake
runs for the shade of wandering
clouds. We divide the thick
silence with unspoken abuses.

Satish Verma

A Parting

I was once again―
angry with me, for
cheating the smile and
wading into violence of tears.

It was hard on me.
You will not find any remains
of my departure.

Like a cuckoo
breaking its flights in mid air
and falling from the sky.

It was not that simple―
to embrace the solitude. I
was your dream and I was
your pain.

A pithy moon―
in all-out night, smothering
the wet lips. I want
no more affairs.

A ripened age wants only
a handshake to finalize an exit.

Satish Verma

13 July, 2017


Your frozen words float
like flakes
falling from invisible lips.

Aimlessly I would
pick up the yearnings
trying to caress me.

Talking to me in
hushed tones, to give a
tang of silence and release.

The otherness, like a
silvery spider's web invites.
You wait at the edge, pondering―

To walk in or not. You
bite your tongue, cannot move.
There were suicides.

The cadavers talk.

Satish Verma

Will Not Breathe For A While

To know, who I am…
in the name of truth.

We move in different circuits.
Our toes don't meet.

Fraternity mangled, I will
not sell my wounds.
I will not show my scars.

I will wait, wait till eternity
after the black end, in the hope of dawn.

As a mark of respect, you fly
low, invisible to the eyes of walking gods.

The thick men, become menace
for the slums. There was no light.

I turn blue.

Satish Verma

12 July, 2017

From Fairyland

Searching in your
rainbow eyes
relics of past.

Your pride on the leash
goes on a rampage,
refusing a kiss of hemlock.

My indulgence ends,
becoming a sufi
you walk through a thick smog
to drag the failed suicides.

A tinge of vulnerability
when I meet my image
in water. You break into hundred tears.

Where this path leads
in the jungle of predators?
Would you carry the flag
of dramatics for quick relief?

The bubble bursts. My
feet buried in swamp,
I look back in agony.

Satish Verma

A Long Road

Nothing to think for,
at this moment. Faceless fears―
like pine needles,
prick the toes in walk.

You cannot―
collect the white roses
in blue rains.

You remember precisely, a toothless―
poised tiger. The prey
tied to a pole gives a
long whimper, before being mauled.

The game continues. You
cannot do anything. Violence was
real, the pen becomes the

You start drawing vultures.

Satish Verma

11 July, 2017

Muffled Sounds

Like the xenia effect
the terror
was changing the landscape.
Will you become my eyes
in scorched run
to my god?
The sea has turned black
in holy rain. I don't ask
any numbers.

A child weeps inside
me. Hydrophobia. You cannot
go near the water. Stay
away from me. A white
cobra was coming to kiss me.
Religion has become a
toxic drink. I cannot mix my
tears with hate.

The bodies are still
coming in the water.

Satish Verma


Not scared by stings
I will carry you in river to―
put you behind sun.

The maple has shed the
red leaves one by one in row,
as prayers for you.

Why would the snow skip
the road, where you stood midway
to stop the whirlwind?

Satish Verma

10 July, 2017


For image breaking
I exile myself
for one half-god
to lick my scars.

I have not touched
you even for ages―
in words.
The door knobs remained unturned.

I let go the dust. Time
was not ripe for me.
Still I have to
find my eternal muse.

I will strive, will
look around, to smell your―
presence. A warrior
always waits for the graceful exit.

Satish Verma

When A God Bleeds

Cause of things―
finding in myself in solitary
manner, reaping
the harvest of failures.

The ghost of a town
roils under the protests.
Nobody knows the ―
length of suffering.

Me and my god―
we are one. Nobody else
was entitled to live.

The half-burnt bodies,
making a crowd at the bank
of a holy river. At least they
were not shot in the head.

Reasons were flawless.
Fallacy was truth.

Satish Verma

No Contempt

Yearning to reach you
like out of body experience.
Dreams will not agree.

He was stunned when
you disappeared in flames.
Was this a protest?

I will wait until the death
of the Super moon.

Satish Verma

Many Things

The moment of truth
for a flower seller.
Sun will not rise today.

Learning the―
alphabets of violence.
I would not bet on you.

At nude beach
I was wearing the moon
in pitch dark.

Silently weeping
a prophet today asks
for the mercy of dead.

Satish Verma

08 July, 2017

Getting Acclimated

Fear is on rise.
How long would you live with that?
Terrible questions bring
arousal bouts.

The days are demanding
answers from the red noses.

Like patato peels
you were wrinkling.

The burning moths.
How do they smell? Young
beautiful faces wearing explosive skirts.

Evening fever. You must
be rooted not, to listen to―
the call of desecrating the comic book.

Satish Verma

Drawing A Circle

Nudging the contempt,
he wanted to become
homeless again.

I had never seen
such human insanity.
Hate me now―
I was your sin.

You made it easy,
making my nest empty.
There was a colossal waste.

The salt was
becoming scarce. Night and
moon were going to break
the hills.

The cost of life
was falling. Diana― the huntress
will not shoot any arrows.
Artemisia was no more sacred.

Satish Verma

07 July, 2017

Beginning Of Voyage

A fear stalks you
in the dead city of broken paths.

If god wills.
Listening to truth in golden dawn
you become a stranger.

Where you want to stand
between far-right
and far-left?

I relapse into grief.
Who was not a god….?

Between you and me
what was missing?


The silence was heavily
pregnant. No one speaks.

Give me a chance
to look at me.

Satish Verma

It Happened Once

You wanted to possess me
and I sought to
drink the stars.

An optics? Tears and
blood. Lynching. I
ask the moon, have
you ever been kissed?

You hold my hands
and laugh, heartily,
throwing back your thick, black
interlaced braid.

The radical, retrograde…
white space in between, I
watch the falling snow, covering
my thoughts with silverberries.

This was the unspoken,
untying love between a mortal
and a celestial being!

Satish Verma

06 July, 2017


Trying to face fiction,
poetry was falling apart
between the glasses.

Telltale signs betray
ghostwalking of the black stones.
Sculptor coming up.

Moonrise will decide the
fate of lovers. Nobody was
ready to tie the knot.

Satish Verma


Scythe of a moon
swings, between tall
palm leaves.

Wanting to see
the midnight fall
of white snow.

Never felt the
sadness of cold weather
when flurries fly.

Leaves had
assembled at the
funeral of the moon.

Satish Verma

05 July, 2017

The Blame Game Begins

The trauma gives me a
severe jolt.
The paper nest of
wasps remains unbroken.

There was an ethereal
feel. One outwardly thought.
We should be ready for
a final war.

Between words and deeds
the religion was expanding.
River of blood was becoming
thick. Can you walk on the
frozen bodies?

The title of the substory
changes. Every executioner
had a deep hurt inside.

Satish Verma

Behind The Brick Walls

Winter is round the corner.
A single dew drop―
cedes a concession to tall trees.
Watchers of virginity
will stay to freeze the fidelity.
Eyes will not let fall
the blood tears.

You were not reading
your mind, skipping your mantra
of departure, behind the
curtain. The winter takes revenge.
Not a single leaf will
follow you, when the blaze
rages in the eyes of moon.

Listen my love. Story does
not end here. Deep within is purple
band. Win or lose, you
will walk on the stings to mutate
the pain of amputation. And
I will paint a fallen
bo tree unfinding a Buddha.

Satish Verma

04 July, 2017

In Trembling Smile

The age has taken
away the bones
of tall trees.

I am drinking
from the lips of moon,
the tiny specks of pain.

Crossing my candles, I
try to read the dark
sky, hanging from distant stars.

What was in store
for us, secured in vaults
of future rage?

Is it the last confession
of dying bottomless
present, without a cue?

The prophets of doom
are on the doorsteps of a
long winter night.

Satish Verma

The Dead Don't Care

I grope, I fumble.
I do not seek
any death.
You will divide,
my body, my soul.

Concealing a double
of god, you disappear
in zero visibility.

The bullets,
the knife.
Will they break the pride
of defying the norms?

The nonviolence speaks
from podium.
Hate breeds hate.
Would you drop the weapons
for enemy?

A rose will say I don't know.

Satish Verma

03 July, 2017

That Was

Turning over your
signature page, holding
your poem in nude.

What else was needed
to commit a sin of god
when you go insane.

The snare was made of
gold, glittering like panther.
You hide under moon!

Satish Verma

What Now

Locating the perceived
footprints of moon―
in my dark house.

My homegrown precision
brings the weird
calligraphy alive.

Now the execution
begins in rose beds. Out from
nowhere come the missing thumbs.

You kill in broad daylight
all the dreams of
feathery morning. I―

start climbing the
violence to reach the eye
of hate and enmity.

A god a day becomes
my natural love. Would we be
meeting daily?

Satish Verma

02 July, 2017

Taking A Form

Like a falcon
you dive with a notched nose.
There was an element
of absurd in your style.

Crushed under snow,
I would search my lost
shoes. The spirit to move on
wakes me up again.

The pursuit of perfect
truth in jungle of fake
excuses. I was wary
of animal grins.

Thugs, they have become
the stewards. Life was mystery.
Death sorts out the secret
of undying passions.

Satish Verma

After The Ceremony

I would be riding
your stumps― to
byzantine castle
of ardor.

It was not
my thesis― to make
me blithsome.
You were your own enemy.

In a crushed phenomenon
I was sketching you
in coal, without scratching
the face on moon-paper.

The room
crumbles. Space shrinks.
I cannot touch you
in moments, in time.

What I bequeathed
remains unclaimed.

Satish Verma

01 July, 2017


from the walls what
was not sacred.


A bipolar body―
slaps the weird
space, between your eyes.


On the morning
of new year
a hungry panther waits.


Before he exploded―
himself, he wrote
his name on boots.


The petunias
were always laughing
after the rains.

Satish Verma

Not Guilty

Undone in dark
you strike back with ardor.
The end was not near. It
was only the beginning of it.

There were many questions
about life. Without mincing any
words, you draw a circle
and sit outside of it.

There was no natural answer.
You teach yourself about
the foundation, from the book
of falls. The breach of trust has a glint
of dagger.

In the hour of betrayal you
drink the cup of Conium, to
describe the ascending palsy.
Step by step, drop by drop.

Why death was hesitant to
shake with you?

Satish Verma