Without Rhyme Or Reason

Your fingers twisted
like question marks.
Age subdues the basic―
instincts. I was,
trying to douse the fire.

You go your own
way in snow. I think the moon
and the palm will not take
any offence and keep on
courting.

The tongue swims
up streams. You will not
fathom out the depth of
the tears, where the―
religion drowns.

Here it goes, the wooden
horse, fully dressed to
bring the groom. The rock
painting speaks of the terror
of unseen gods, who too, were happy.

Satish Verma

After The Bruises

I get you― earnestly.
In my short poems,
in binge reading, of your eyes.
The tears of hills will not go waste.

Lamb by lamb, you
search the pink contusions
becoming nebulous images.

The fear of black waters
will always chase you under
moonlight.

And the night releases
my pain. Iris and muse become
one. Devastated stings
go back home.

You will not commit,
will not offer the grief of veil,
which would not hide the face.

Satish Verma

Golden Cut

Living without you,
locking horns with unhappenings.

May not harm you,
my imaginary pride
in your shape.

Remember,
when you dreamed of crossing the
crescent gate of moon?

Your audacious leap
into dark to wade into the
mortgage of future?

I was frozen,
standing in the crowd of incandescent
fireflies― heart felt.

My letters will not
reach you, after the dynasty grows
pale, pure as the setting sun.

The lake will not die.
It will keep the secret.

Satish Verma

In Battle Of Amour Propre

Bloodline was in airlock.
Unlimited pique―
to move the wheel.

Shutting the door behind,
you face the moon, who
was walking in grief.

In my universal pain,
I enter a poem to
explore the omnipresent void.

Where will you go―
to find the peace of the
wrecked ship at the bottom of sea?

Carry me like a wounded
lion in blood, and fangs.
Only the eyes reflecting your image.

I will not put on a
call, there was nothing left to declare.

Satish Verma

Searching Yourself

Only a wall was left
between us. How will―
we shake the hands?

The wholeness shattered,
lips begin a ground attack
under stray bullets.

You cannot abandon me,
wiping out the dark. I was in
you. How do we start saying goodbye?

Beyond the conventional
thoughts lies the divine world―
where you listen without a sound.

Sharing the nerves in
vanishing replies, questions
will rise like terrible ribs.

Salt and pepper. Black
and white. You live in gray shade
of private thirsts.

Satish Verma

Drowned Syndrome

I was not the truth.
From where comes the light
in the dark tunnel?

Na, supposedly the sun
immolates itself in its
own flames?

There will be no
contrast with a cameo.
You will embrace the shadow
of unknown nemesis.

There was some
sleaze talk about the dancing―
moons. I always loved
the hissing snakes.

Like a terrible
toothache, my poem throbs.
I call the genie to rub the lamp.

A summer tree was breaking
into blaze.

Satish Verma

Mutual Hurts

His murmur turned
into a howl―
after the blast.

Pumice and ash cover
the holy book. Time and space
were shrinking.

Like I had become
lava, that snaked in the
cries. Night spreads a
brilliant darkness.

A river starts
burning. You cannot swim.
I let you go to meet
your gods.

It is your face which floats
on the sea of violence.

Satish Verma

Mathematical Study

Rivals in equilibrium,
when conflict
interacts.

The reciprocal effect
hurts each other. There
would be no elegy for anybody.

The musk deer
roams for the mate in
the jungle of frozen dew.

Why it is― was
violent? No past, no
present. You want to live
with a diaper.

Small diamonds
poking out. O god, I
did not give you any gifts.

Satish Verma

Water Birth

The daily assaults
hit me, like the serrated
spine of stingray.

This moment of hubris
stares at me, eyes wide open.
What you did't know
was always overwhelming.

Something enters into
your blood. How many years
you need to live?

The hope was exploding.
Overnight you become very old,
tired and exhausted, quitting
the corrosive throne.

Everyday a poem
is ejected, to keep me sane.

Faultless like a yellow rose
I paint on the blind―
spot of bonding.

Satish Verma

Under Acid Attack

By not listening
to the voiceless,
I was hurting myself.

Taking off the
golden ring―
to become a monk.

Crunching the leaves
of ginkgo―
to remember my eternal pains.

Time to pack your
nothings. Intrigue has
endorsed the white lies.

When I become unknown to
you, will you erase the
scars of the sunset?

Satish Verma

Moving Into Fog

It was difficult to
shut the window. Moon
was casting a spell.

A hill mynah in
golden cage wants to
start soul searching.

Will you peel my
thumb, so that I can smear
the blood spot on your forehead?

Why did the sedge give
the papyrus to man? I don't
want to read the tumultuous lineage.

Let the flogging stop.
The weeping dawn will not
witness the slaughter of moon.

Satish Verma

Earthy Smell

The tricks
of honey-beaters become
evident. You in old age
churn the truth of losses,
raising eyebrows.

No bottle brush was
left behind to act as secret
weapon, to bring down
the pygmalion. Like an earthen pot.
The leaked dam of tears
would stand erect.

The fallout gives a
shudder. You are stripped
off the boat, meant to cross
the muddy water.

A temple becomes
a monument, without deity.
There was only one survivor,
the godless curse.

Satish Verma

Long Threads

In warps and wefts
I interlace a face in―
fine linen.

Are you frightened?
My thumb print goes awry.
You will not recognize me.

I bring the sameness
from inside out.
All night I suffered the elemental ache.

Like Dante you cannot
escape inferno. I don't need
any help, cannot climb out for lynx eyed.

The age inflicts, and
time bites. Still I witness through bleary eyes―
a moon rising.

Satish Verma

Not Thinking

Death was too candid
sparing the stone cutters.

The essence
touches the ethos
of dirty feet.

Pain without
fringes seeks the solace
from severed limbs.

No one else will
know, how kind were my bruises.

Crossing the symphony
I have reached at your
silence of shivering lips.

We touch each other
by words, our voices baked.

Satish Verma

I Survive You

A bohemian moon
was following me,
playing in the hands
of dark night.

Man's marrow, the
essence of truth,
drips from the wordless
poem.

Hanged from the
gate, a wreath of capsicums
and citruses to ward off
the evil eyes.

You avoid the debate.
I wanted the perfect answers.
Wearing a hawthorn crown
does not make a Christ.

Every religion has its own pain.

Satish Verma

Some Fantasia

You cannot carry it
to the end.
I will not put up any claim.

Walk through my heart
in snow.
I will paint a yellow moon.

Come October, I
will weave the wreaths of
smoke, to invite the piper.

Where would you
lead me under the autumn
fall? My name holds nothing.

I will not be last
word in the novelette of a legend.
Stories come and fade.

Satish Verma

Racy Dreams

Sometimes you let go
ethnicity for a gentle tug
at your arm.

Gravitas. You were
always explicit about your will
to ride a tiger.

I see your face
in dark, ditching the moon.
I want to cry to hear Beethoven.

Death in crowd, I
would't ask. Where was the black
monument, where light lives?

Lapping up the silence
you start spreading the rumors.
He survives in the marriage
of thunders.

Flowers smile. O God
why were you―
hiding behind the sun?

Satish Verma

Crossing The Fog

To undo, what I had
not done.
When you will not give―
me your scars.

No answer was needed,
falling in stutter. It
catches my eyes, the
moon spots.

Prayers you will not
offer, against the organized
crime. But I remember you,
whenever I fall.

Precisely I am hurt.
In the serene lake of your
eyes, a boat sinks. The
gray moon turns red.

The woods are burning. A
spectre of losing you in smoke
looms large. I translate
the agony into a chilled poem.

Satish Verma

The Riddles

Expiating for what
I am. Sun will ask
some questions.

For whom the prayers
are said in unison―
when the archangel was standing in dark?

Why the light restores
the naked aggression ―
when the moon was being disrobed?

The cloud of my eyes
and silence of your smiling lips
collide to say whole truth.

Moment of inertia
will need the finality
of time's retaliation.

In hanging garden, the―
unseen's will come to celebrate.

Satish Verma

The River Between Us

Your face quivering
between my hands, how
do you stop thinking about
me?

When the wars end,
and the first moon rises,
would you come to
see my god?

The third eye opens
sometime to see the difference
between black and white
swans?

And the blessed crown
wants to know who had trained
the terrorist to demolish―
the reliability of truth.

The unknown held you.
You do not know, the end of
the thread was catastrophe.
It has a new baptism.

Satish Verma

Tone Deafness

Becoming numb to poverty―
in terror mode,
you fluster and behave sensibly.

The anonymous entry
of a walking grief―
covers the violence of words.

Your sun burns without
giving light. You climb your
poem to find the answer.

The eyes shut. You feel
the assault of night. There was
no undying love between the strangers.

The conversation ignites
the sparks. Carbon spreads
on your shirt. The red circle
blunts the knife.

You cannot kill yourself.

Satish Verma

Brooding Over You

A city grows in you
overnight. You stand on the bridge
to watch the train whistling by.

More poems in starry
eyes. I catch the bouquet
of nicotiana― the night bloomer.

Nihilism tends
to wash the pungent smell of
purgatory. Who was
not a sinner?

When you are sad
I forget good byes and bring
the swan song of an oracle.

The truth does not
shine now. I make friends
with black ciphers, which
were pure.

Satish Verma

Nursing Our Hurts

Digging your own
grave, to find the golden end.

In a casual kiss
you went for initiation
by fire.

Open yourself to
receive the pain of flowerbaths.

Poorest-of-poor,
go on telling me all the lies
of becoming beast.
I will tell only the eternal
truth, to crimp Archeology.

It does not heal,
the history of man. There
were only bloody wars.

Again I pick you
for my sake, you were
my lost child of nightmares.

Satish Verma

Sorting Out

Take my canto,
me again. My breadth
staggers when I don't see you.

Hoisting my grief
I unbelieve the lamb, that
jumped into inferno.

To undo the moon―
heart will not accept the
verdict of summer― setting sun.

Your jaw drops
when shadows disappear
under the stars.

The distance multi―
plies, when I try to
come near you.

The ash blinks, words
shrink, yet there was a silent yes.
You roll me down in your tears.

Satish Verma

Coming Back To You

Becoming tainted without
a stain, seeing
you in dark, untouching.

Why do you draw
a circle around you― keeping
out the center?

Voicelessly,
a howling call― per
mistake, disturbs the slumber.
Moon had yet to leave.

The grace of crying
wordlessly. Buddha sleeps
again on side, through
the vacant mind. Partial amnesia?

The gift of the angles
against the dots. I was
left with hyphens only.

Satish Verma

A Queer Challenge

World wanted
to know, how I am.
I say, ask my poems.

Let's run through the skin
of new heists I was
fighting my own demons.
Racial silhouette
against the backdrop of moonscape
was becoming visible.

You stand in queue
to get the food for thought and home for homeless,
trying to use my poems as activism.

Inviting new-fascists to come
and walk death houses.

Stuck in a cleft stick today,
you search yourself intensely.

Where was my nightingale
in this jungle of raw wounds?

Satish Verma

Definitions

Becoming intimate with
pain. Laughing with
death. My pastime.

Then unfold me
to lick the flames. You
and me burn simultaneously.

Why life demands
toll for crossing the river
of ashes and bones?

Like night bird
you hop and stop in neighborhood.
Looking for lithe snake.

September tears.
It was ending after the
red moon bleeds.

Was there any name left for the void?

Satish Verma

Night Blooming

Red moon wets
the eyes. I may not
sing back to trees.

You borrow the
light through negation.
Not by awakening self.

Don't invite the
fear. The Mars was rising
with salty streams of water.

And leave your
book blank. I have
to write again the history of truth.

A pure kill, when
you smile with eyes squinting.
Your lips tell something else.

Don't touch the stone.
It was melting.

Satish Verma

Foolish Sparks

You will see and will
not see, at the same moment;
the son of moon,
and daughter of earth―
not meeting at the horizon
of lids.

The hole in the back
of skull was widening. An
atheist becomes a Greek God,
edged out after a heart wrenching
departure.

A trail of blood follows,
after the sharp words pierce
your poems. Dying in pieces,
becomes a daily ritual.

To be different was
very painful, like white mushroom
turning back to black soil.
Who will walk in the footprints of light?

Satish Verma

A Dream

Remembering you
under the palms,
sitting on sand.
Reading William Carlos Williams
"The Red Wheelbarrow"
eating dates.

Celebrating
my unborn poem.

Satish Verma

Acid Test

Was it a sorcery?
In broad daylight,
you snatch away the echoes.

Now I am shodowless.
Walking on toes.
I reach the pit.

Bluebells. From a
precipice, I bend down
to hear the divine music.

A dumper picks up
the foreign traveler, hot
iron. I become a refugee.

Talking of non-violence,
you become violent
against the poppies.

The drugged apostate
wants to live in
lesser space than a mouse.

Rainbow becomes
dark. Colors singe the eyes
ignite the psyche.

Satish Verma

In Night Terrors

In war of words
you were your own―
image in sea of blood lunacy.

About the diplomacy
dawn brings the―
stings of wasps. The spirit
rattles the peace of mausoleum.

This is the curse
of unknown gods. A black
throat kills you by sweet lyrics.

Barehanded you
catch the lightning, and
the moonstorm sinks the boat.

I do not listen,
I do not read. Perceive
you in my silken thoughts.

The colors are fading.
Shrine lives by its unsung music.

Satish Verma

In Bazaar

Where do I place you
declassified?
O my boundless thirst―
you have made me cry again.

The haters
were many. Like myriad
thorns in flesh. Cannot stop the blood.
You smile.

In your beak. Carrying the
death― fire bird. Where you are going?
Past lake, past hills. The hunchback
stoops further, to get the award.

Who was the enemy of
body art? Birthmarks were becoming
nude. You want to exhibit
all the wounds of earth.

O god, your hairs are growing.

Satish Verma

In Prayers

The stains will wash
the blood moon.
I will bring the nightingale.

Show me your sacred
heart. Can it sustain a
knife thrust through the ribs?

You are walking on the
man's skin, spread over-after
the vision, as though you can reach home.

The ravens have a
field day. It is all black around,
with faces buried in sands.

And you sing in praise
of immortal, who gives you
a limited dose of yawns.

Satish Verma

Altruism

Truth was me
when serotonin appeared
for a golden deal.

Self-effacing―
a fragile kiss, in
bouts of darkness.

Moonlight was sitting
on treetops, when I was
conversing with god.

There was slaughter in the
sea of demons. I do not survive.
I do not die.

In ripened pain,
I will go for half-moon
to solve the puzzle of bald hunger.

Redwood knows―
how the sap rises to
build the tight grains of faith.

Satish Verma

Under Your Lids

Moving in different
orbits, always trying to
touch each other.

Between moon and
earth, lies a great trust.
I will never deviate my path.

We will not leave
our foot prints in dark after―
our rendezvous in light.

A dumb doll in―
signs, starts speaking about
the wax mannequins in veils.

The blood nails have
started etching your names on
every rock for sanity.

I have started making friends with flames.

Satish Verma

The Smiles Are Disappearing

On your crumpled body
I write my name.

The Kosher trembles. I
place Gita to be unread by
unpraised eyes.

Do not abuse the
crate. It may contain
a pit viper.

I am not clean. You
can wipe out the face from
my sleeve and make a new shirt.

And the messenger will
deliver the gift of a
naked moon signed by black hole.

Attended by kisses
the roses were spread on
ground to receive the severed legs.

Stand in attention.
The beaten god has arrived.

Satish Verma

Witnessing The Downforce

Undying you speak tall.
I will resume to watch
the soul outside yourself.
And I will receive the body
of dried river.

Observing your shriveled
hands, I dig again the―
bed of stones. Glass eyes
appear beautiful in dying sun.
There were no spaces left
between the clouds.

I had always admired
your stoic glance, repeating
the verdict word by word.
The persona stepping down, pure
as snow. There was no rain.

A dewdrop reflects
the sky, and the train was
ready to leave for the last stop.
Then the journey will start
for blue darkness of naked swans.

Satish Verma

Not You. Not Me

Wading into future,
why do you carry so many
names?

Will you forget me
wearing my watch?
You were the timer―

not the time. Trying
to unlock the mystery
of tongues.

Killers? Who says?
What about the songbirds?
The whistling dolphins?

Why you are misunderstood?
Why do you sin
on the name of deity?

You were not there
in crowd, when I fell down
and people went running over me.

Satish Verma

Tolerance

The vessel was full,
without eternal verities.
I open my mouth
to drink the dark minutia.

Do I love you or not,
holding your hand I would ask?
Your eyes will speak in
god's language. Only silence of stone.

And when will my journey
will stop, if I don't find you
waiting for me? Do you think we
know each other intimately as the lines
of the palms?

Home, I have again lost it.
Was there a home of god, who
would melt when I was
lost in the dark woods?

I walk with empty hands.
Nothing to offer now.

Satish Verma

What Were Certainties?

After a moral push―
you start soul searching.

You would go back
in the arms of birth,
fighting flame with flame.

The trivial woes, why
the man was afraid of man,
wishing for a caul genesis?

You won't keep to yourself
the secret of virtue,
remaining poor of gods.

Returning to beasts
to define mankind, amidst
flotilla of lies.

The holy sin, you
will start arresting the scions
when the sun rises.

Satish Verma

Light Was Failing

Half-right, half-wrong―
faltering on altar,
I have come to―
pay back my debt.

The listening now stops.
Only unheard monologue―
will continue in void
wringing out the tongue.

The burning man will
not scream, even in ashes.
I did, what you did not.
I have cut off my thumb.

Looking at you nonchalantly
I pick up my thoughts in mess,
to stitch my death cap―
stepping out in dark.

All night it rained. I
will not leave any footprints.

Satish Verma

In Deep Anguish

Standing in half-light
of a sanatorium,
covering my eyes with
my palms, I look behind.

Thinking of relation, of
connectivity between love
and hate, war and peace in my
tumultuous mind―

asking to be relieved now
of the chained body. Fidelity
of being was done, leaving my
vocabulary unwritten.

No wisdom was needed now.
The circular presence of knife
and seers was sufficient. I
will not seek your religion.

Believing my inside, outside
of a child face.

Satish Verma

Was It A Warning?

Celebrating spring
punctuated with an
apostrophe.

How much you owned
your conscience,
in deathly silence?

Love was an execution
drug. It works
inside, not outside.

When the hummingbird
stops flying, would you
get the nectar of pain?

The myth of flying
backward was true
of destroying the ascension?

You give me hope
and insanity, making a
bonfire of incomplete truths!

Satish Verma

Living In Wax Palace

Absolutely pure,
I would not believe, until
a dark spot
appears on your cheek.

The petals now split
into rays, as in marigold
dividing the sun―
between the eyes.

I look through the stains
now, wearing the blanket
of moon, mottled but silvery cool.
I do not mind to accommodate
the pain of dark sky.

The true words now
stumble out. Give me some
tears to wash the face
of my poem.

Satish Verma

Give Me Something

As if walking―
in cyberspace, searching
for you.

I want to ask you
to give back my tears―
which were shed,
on murder beach.

What renunciation―
you need, living in the shell
of a mollusk?

You don't want to―
be found. O destiny, goddess
of ciphers― tell me,

why did this happen?
Your silence opening the
blood trails?

My branded poem still weeps.

Satish Verma

The Prodigal Son

Priest or thinker,
you wanted a moral engagement.

Moon shined,
You were waiting for a
prophet or saint.

It was pointless,
boat will not arrive. Standing
on beach, your journey ends here.

The sun was too hot. The
umbrella conceals the face
of a motivator. Nobody wants
to touch the fast of dead god.

Irisis shrink. Hole becomes
larger. Now I cannot hate myself.
The blue jewels have become lumps
of wasted stones.

You start diverting
the green death of infallible,
and become real.

Satish Verma

September Woes

You pick up a homeless
word and weave
into a poem.

Suddenly it becomes
a dove, fluttering
in my heart.

I love them most,
the flying pods, carrying
unknown seeds.

White and red
I send you my summer
blues today.

The cottony cheeks
I blow the clean tears
away of a crying sky.

Satish Verma

Black Currants

You do not want to reach―
where the journey ends.

Can you keep this secret
how do I harm myself in ecstasy?
Your shadow walks―
on the lake solemnly.

I want to talk of―
the broken musicality of black
veils. Do we need to touch
the tulips under the moon?

Big toes digging in wet
grass. Grieved, not getting there
where the sink hole appeared
let the hands tremble.

You freeze in the space
between the eyes. The groove
widens to suck the guilt
which never was.

A little finger points towards the sky.

Satish Verma

Rehearsals

A lunatic has found
a touchstone, to know―
your nights to burn.

Gazing in still waters
you forget, to become complicit,
with the incoming waves.

Can you shout at me
without an uproar, sans words,
in the blind alley?

How will you remain
bounded to your consents,
unheard in echoes?

This mystique, this corridor
of authority makes you
insane. You want to go back
to the ruins.

Not judging
your sins you commit
a promise again.

Satish Verma

For Whom The End Waits?

Saturday.
Night cries again.

Can I call you midnight
to kill the moon―
and celebrate the dark?

A book and sitting on the
birthmark of a fig tree's thigh
in the temple of a failed god,
I haul up the stains and blues.

Dirty linens. You would
faint in the stale smell of jasmines.
How often you loved to weave
the white beads into a lace for your bun?

Small things. We look
at each other to drift away.
Night lamp struts and flops.
There war no end of pink aches.

Stay aloud. Sky was
listening. Where is the god?

Satish Verma

Punishing Myself

My personal agony,
very precious to me.

I was carrying you
on the paint brush, on crayon.

Canvas was
empty after you left. No oil
painting of curved lips and digitals.

You hang a man eater―
panther, after lynching.
Whole length suspended from a tree.
So beautiful, as a star night.

You were left
to yourself― to ponder over
the killer and the kill.

Who wins in war of words?
In war of lips?

Satish Verma

Regrouping

My truth was very brief,
sitting at a long distance.
You were plucking words
at my lips.

The toxic path, I knew
the destiny. Not afraid to
catch the saboteurs.

Paper tigers bring
the spurious hemlock. You
drink from the eyes of bystanders.

Like the dropped
hot coal, you look the
perfect model. I was weary of
bald arguments.

Blood and beheading
will not separate. The babies
are locked in ice boxes.

A harem starts taking the
shape. The sociopath was in charge.

Satish Verma

Not Harming You

Another tear rolled down, on time's cheek.

It was not meant to be
like this. Undaunted,
you open the fire towards the moon.

In your madness―
there was a discipline.
A psychological withdrawal―

from the nesting niche.
Believe me― it was not a fake,
I will not reclaim my gifts.

Lesser known was the
spiritual inadequacy.
The hawk will not come to land.

Death― be not a child.
Breathing is slowing down.
I will wait for the sunset.

Satish Verma

The Thrill―the Game

Forget me―
not the blood truths.

I was reading your thoughts
from the deep furrows
of your forehead.

To follow the peace
I will not purchase the
eternal bites.

Poverty was the bliss,
when you were not there.
Ripped nodes were sucking―

the lame legs. I will
not call you back for
any support.

The paper boats are still
hanging out― without water.
How will you light the candle

which burns from
both the ends. Someone waits for you―
behind the curtain.

Satish Verma

Rising From The Ashes

The rise, the fall
of twin blasts. Were
you going to repeal the
writ of divine code?

With spring in your arms,
will you throw the dice
to win the virgin―
ring of Mars?

Peace makers were at large
for the crown. Who―
else would hold black―
the apocalypse, along with
the black moon?

Locked windows. Someone
was waiting for you in golden
patch of the door, when the dawn was
ready to give you a kiss.

Purpurea, the foxglove
covers your eyes like a hijab.

Satish Verma

Recuperating

Only the bones will
tell, how tall you were
without flesh.

This was my bane.
All night I walked towards
the moon to locate you.

Sucking sound does
not die. I wanted to reach
unannounced near the fire.

This was pathological.
There was no prophecy.
Panic makes you a viper.

You don't become a
silver after passing through
the dark tunnel.

Satish Verma

Dancing On Flames

I will retrieve your
consecrated shrine of
innocence.

You will kneel
eating grass. The great
shift towards Agni starts.

It burns the stigma,
the sins. Whitens your
dirty teeth.

What you have done
to me O queen of hoods,
hood of queens?

The kernels were intact
ready to grow, after the wild
fires on hills.

I will not utter a word.
A new breed of mix of man
and god was coming up.

Satish Verma