MUTE DESIRE

Come Naja, come:
from the scented tree
and spread out your hood.
I will pull you down on my lips
One day.

Classical porn, Neanderthal.
In your stark nakedness I wanted an asylum.
A place guiltless, hands blackened, moony face,
Nothing to hide, except the fame
Of a fear.

Can I breathe in a cosmos? with integrity?
The interviews are corrupt, the dales stun,
The peace perverted, destroying the white birds.
O browning sun!
Wait till the moon rises.

The daily war is very raw
You burn your fingers
for purity.

Satish Verma

GOLDEN END

All I wanted was to arrive from the absence
of me, through the sluice of scars; life was
never the same again. Some inner birth took place;
awakening of sorrow for the attempts to take on adversary.

Pure disquiet, I shed myself, fly in grains.
Truth scares, stalks on the hot dusty road;
blinds the pinnacle, gives a call, needles in
eyes, a cult blooms in the rubble of fallen roofs.

The self betrays, does not reach the door,
within grief the sky blames the senses of space,
the flying bird sprays blue sparks of silence,
a cadaver collects the fire of neglect.

A spoken body loses the arithmatic of
stubborn cleft in the faith, pebbles on the beach,
each one for a fallen man, kissing a snake.
The memorial has golden letters on black kill.

Satish Verma

A LANTERN GUIDES

Cereus was in bloom in nightwashed
desert, sand was cool, it tipped off
the contour drain, a river sent its compliments.

If the death was at home, like an
estranged lover, will you open the door
in dusky stripes of morning?

Rubber was burning in afternoon rain.
An alert was sounded in curious lanes;
the shadow was lengthening its stay!


Standing on the burnt-out hull, I count
the shouts of the fathers on artifical limbs.
Bits of violence have broken the sea.

The seedless fruits descend on the glistening
coffin. A city walks with me without end.
There were roses, roses all the way.

Satish Verma

BURNING IN

No anchors. I was not seeking
a blind spot
in shadows of the wall, standing

on a hot, glistening, obsidian,
wearing only death-gloves
of pink body, the caked fronds of a fossil-name,

inviting the rain to wet the brown
grass as tall as the fallen pride
of a coiled accomplishment of a tiger,

the lips nearest to the fangs of
cobra, still nonchalant about the Murphy’s Law;
mute belief of a blueberry

shedding the grey ash of pollen
from the virgin flowers of doom,
from dream to dream,

when the shifting of night starts
at ground red, a white shirt climbs on
a tank to challenge the turret.

Satish Verma

IN SLEEP

A cult of sound without lips
was growing. The veil had staked its claim.
Staying myself I thought I will become
you; there would be a lured kill!

Moaning inside, a wave has ruffled
the sea. Serpent of moon quakes the shore.
Death was worthy of a kiss. A gull
flies away with glassy wings.

Rediscovering a beehive, honey of the
immaculate queen, between the breasts lies
a rival, I do not drag out the rainbow, I
have lost the will to trap the blue-fish.

We are distancing. A saddest tree drops
the seed in abyss, blackened, somebody
buries it inside a wall. The stones have
no option, up to neck the opacity runs.

Satish Verma

RETURN ON D-DAY

Why deceptive retrieve
in a wheelchair
for the fallen?

Was it not a sheer
wrong message
of a space anxiety?

The aboriginal name
was dead in a traffic. What
a choice to breathe its

last in a city of buried
monuments? Vision of inner
city affiliates,

taking questions for
the first time. You
become only a body after the death.

A white rose waits
for a blue sea. The black moon
hovers around the old man.

Satish Verma

UNASKING

Timeless,
the eyes and fractured wisdom,
the two of us, extremely prudent, suffering
the dislocation of vigilance against wrinkled sin,
I am on my own today
disconnected to

the unearthly rehearsal
of breaking the cycle of carbon assimilation
in the veins of white lies, of crude bombs,
moonbathing we were colloiding in void
of consciousness and scattered verses
in scriptures remained unsearched;

the brutal hierarchy of chromosomes,
loud and merciless, in the birth of new settlements,
huge ovens for cremations, collecting the golden
teeth from the ashes, celebrating the
return of blood and death, me,
blessing the unborn poem.

Satish Verma

STYES

It was a searing moment in grueling
heat of your flesh, the racist attack had come
to surface, the blue eyes,

edible gold, in nights
the pink veil of the moon,
I will cut my wrist to pour out the pure vermillion;

a huge umbrella of hot kisses
dissolving the contaminated beads
of musk, like fever;

the smoke rolls down the hills
of collective guilt,
an anonymous warning;

the frozen voice opens
like a black tulip on baby ice,
down under goes the sun.

Satish Verma

CONSUMPTION

The peace has a random price;
buried by sea of volition in knee deep puddles of
saline mud, being in being, after the crash,
to keep dissent alive.

Tell me, how did you go in arc light
in the middle of death, plunged in icy delights
of bloody waters? Prevailing withdrawl
spills the counts in endless moments,

of permanence and deceit, a face was
present at one time in two canvases;
the despondency was victorious in kelp,
of arboreal moon, night drips orally.

When the future comes in nesting birds,
I will search the eggs of cuckoo, before
I know you again; the venus-fly trap for hidden
kiss will open the honey glands.

Satish Verma

CRACKED SUMMER

not enough
howls of tormented birth
under a homeless roof, arresting the light,
a bleed from the pungent breast,
you lost the marriage with marigold,

to be grave purple eyed, missils killing
the shrieks, i let a paperweight
sit on the vessels and stop a free run of black
blood from nipples: dawn, it was far
away, the goddess inhailing earth’s ice

Satish Verma

DESCENDING

i make ready myself for an insult
and chest pain, keeping unshorn hair like nettles
on contours, to take unknown turns for restoring
the clouds on moon-blue hills, spreading the water colors
on trees; someone inside the shrine was making
turbulence: yellow room has the footprints of
a naked fakir, after the apocalypse, who walked eyes closed
on the burning ghats, his rags are now worshipped,
the later years found the darkness
glowing in the furnace of propped up body
by roses, roses all the way, he tells the
hanging man, how tall were the poles, with song

Satish Verma

STRANGE ECHOES

a kiss
on lips, returns with a blunt style,
in perfumed demeanor!

i did not hear
with absolute eyes, a captive
in chained feet, for self-defence;


all the shades of red
were walking on ocean,
a black skull glides:

the night fills in pores-
the gale, kills the black bucks,
poachers were on run!

in telling, the wizard
entices, you will never know
full toll of civil war:

he turns down a gift of speech;
words and whistles were surreal echoes
and I see a sword like nose

Satish Verma

ODE TO LONELINESS

that has been, was so raven
that you were hugging vanity
for the deportation of death
as a living;

fake predicates of a genius
like words falling as bucketfuls
of lies,

back to back coffer dams
collapsing, submerging

seers’ sarcophagi,

and the annual rings were becoming
deeper, mossed in misery,
his book of moon blackened,

goodbye, the dark unsinkable,
I am going to be reborn
in the abyss of my own sorrow

Satish Verma

WAIT

do not go the orphean way,
he thinks, friends meet as strangers
on road, was the absolute absence able

to find an air hole? the era of truth
dawns too late; calls the windswept
moon as a witness,

the shuddering will distill,
like purple fears from the sieve
of panic and crumbs of blue will fall,

concordia finds a new meaning of
falsehood, stoops, i would say, for
a megacreation,

the baby was found on a garbage
dump in the maddening silence
of protests, the vegans are not going too far,

powerless like a cadaver you do not
want to open the eyes from
a bandaged face

Satish Verma

OUTSIDE THE MIND

prisoner of retribution,
he was buried under a salt lake,

elusive, his crotch,
not far from stings of wasps,

the blood spills,
he would wonder how to catch the truth

in black river,
wrapped in imperforated causes,

leaking with curses,
black conjugation of greeds,

with the grief unbuckling the grudges,
uncut wounds, festering under the skin,

the stink starts scything, he starts
folding the denials, in self praise

Satish Verma

PEBBLES IN THE POND

A crooked slanting moon
shifts the eye
comes under the chaste tree
and washes the tainted
victory.

Wolves start howling
at the tomb of unknown martyr,
man-eaters recoil
on the sugar island
and talk about destinies,

A mourning crowd walks
repudiating the death;
one day nuances of an ode
will thaw the delta
in disbelief.

The Delphic attitude
of a translucent murder
narrates the wisdom of sadness
which cannot propel the
blood stained light.

Satish Verma

A SOUL DIES

Sky overcast, moon was sad.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

Who killed the bird in morning rain?
Ashes were sent to the lake.

A hidden slaughterman did not die.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

The good old name now spells the doom.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

I will call you in pitch-dark night.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

Ascending gods have ruined my life.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

A child was stolen from a mother’s bed.
Ashes were sent to the lake.

Satish Verma

A CRAZY THEME

sulking penetrates in deep veins,
deliverer becomes bald,
jumps to his death in scorching sun,
a starfish inherits the costume of
skull and crossbones –

the cynosure tries to wear a crown
of hawthorn for the freedom of soul,
the bonds of pink capped dahlias, a version
of milky smiles, in a battle of withdrawls,
it was impossible to wrench the crumbling style,

the caterpillars were walking with iron shoes
never to become butterflies, the secret
of eggs will be buried in bitterness of separation,
I was drowning but for my faith for the river
flowing in my back yard.

Satish Verma

MAY I SAY

At ethnic moment
on the moonfront, artless impressionists
of parallel conflicts with anxious looks
come to share the self realized truth
of mangled uncertainties,

watching your own dead body:
small chicks huddle together for contemporary
thoughts of violence-to kill or not to kill-
humanity walks with bent head
listening nothing:

I am desperate, the moon was stone faced
black holes bleed and throw the crystals
of red light: dropp your pen and hold the death
on doorway, morning wind was coming
from the seaside:


for dissolution of your ego, I would go for a long swim.

Satish Verma

YIELDING

Time sets upon the arcane taboos
you wear the unknown fear
like cowries around your neck,

a bulletproof jacket did not work,
the fish in the brain
was the religion.

Whom do you trust now
in the caveful of seekers? They were demanding
every dropp of your blood from a waning relic.

Climbing Mt Everest was a raw deal,
dismantling the heights
like plasma, as naked as the ice on unmarked grave.

Hyper-sided, the priest was confused
in repetition of a prayer,
and the floor trembled in uplifting the god.

Satish Verma

IN A TENT VILLAGE

you walk on wodden legs
a lump in breast, though benign
but kids are abducted from wombs;
a road map is spread on the dirty mat
for finding the missing link,
while a solid-fuel missile was ready
to be launched

scarlet lips for décor,
unwanted hairs on chin popping out,
archipelago of hawks in brain:
the vulnerable, tending their wounds, hiding
in tunnels of shame; I like black berries
in sleep, cannot listen my own voice,
have become blind for my own hands

dried stigmas of crocus will color my
obscene poverty orange-yellow, slum
rain, no place to sit, old memories are coming back
I am unstuck from a wheelchair

Satish Verma

* THE DEAD TIGER

the hunt begins after sunset
under cracked moon, blindfolded clouds
start visiting volitionlessly:

the nesting eagles, I choose
this bitter absurdity of large wings
under the sun, where they will announce the shade,

a lonely patch of life, of signature
kill of future, the metamorphosis of a street
into unending wait;

undress the sleeping lion
of combat fatigue, his brain splattered,
the dreams moved like tectonic plates




* On seeing the body of Vellupillai Prabhakaran

Satish Verma

* RETURN JOURNEY

I forgot, was it me
in a body pile draped in dust,
still hot, bruised, burnt, a mad megalomaniac
starting a civil war, creating suicide bombers,
young virgins inhaling death?

This journey under the guns, displacing
hapless thousands, will reach destination
on thick, blood stained red, dirt road of life? Step by step
the dynasty breaks and violence, a malignant
spread overtakes the bones

of avatars; the round bloodshot eyes
cross the barriers of silence and step out
from the skin: they were bombing
his bunker.

*On the death of Vellupillai Prabhakaran, LTTE Leader

Satish Verma

THE NEXT WALL

the whispering voices
laid down the arms on the skull of the leader,
father of pain, then asked the guns to fire
a last volley towards home

targeting the prudence of fingernails
who crossed the gap
seventy thousand years ago,
the progenitors with exposed genitalia:

the dead man’s mouth was full of
secrets, my god, they were frozen pistons
of sugar, face bloated of pride,
absolutely white,

the skin had been very kind
a pink shade of poetry, you deliver
a rose for unnamed soldier
I break the windows and mirrors

Satish Verma

TREMBLING

Sparks are dimmed. No use
collecting them. I will burn my home
to get light.
My god was sleeping.

Let me use the night goggles.
On the ridge walks a silhouette of
limping buddha,
his neck broken.

I did not help myself
falling. He had asked me
“Are you me? ”

The anxiety of lifting the rock
again. I gather the grass leaves
on my toes.

Nobody wants to ruin the day
looking at baby silence,
featureless, mute.

Satish Verma

ARRIVAL

Between she and he
and sexuality swoops a gender
patenting a word, as it is,
at the birth’s door pretending to
be a kiss of radical thought.
Mediocrity always has an intentionality
with colored plumage, a passionate
dance before the final plunge of
a true love. Black or white, somebody
is etching a dangerous scar on the skin
of a maimed girl. Myalgia of a
nation like a lipless epic on the
while book which cannot be completed.
I wanted to believe in never tomorrow.

Satish Verma

I AM THE LOVER

After separation from death
rain-scented moon was rising
in broken sky. Night birds started
fluting one to another relentlessly;

earth unjointed, was speechless, in
failures we meet often, a little while.
I was ascetic scaling blood pollution,
the life had no mercy, incapable of healing.

You surge for the bleeding miner, the
gold missing, priest was innocent, behind
the peels lies the empty hand, insanity in
parallel depression will find a new praise.

The infinite solitude of the soldier in war
fights the demons of blind desires. One by
one they kill you from the mountain. You
rise from the ocean under twilight of winged stars.

Satish Verma

* UNFATHOMABLE

After lifting the fingerprints of bloodbath
a bushfire starts, engulfing contradictions,
the gulf between erosion of truth and
survivors appears widening. Tiny ants smell

blood, exfoliation begins, from
nameless earth for the exodus of barefoot,
the epic of tragedy, something in the debris is left
for acetic reminder, a death reunion.

The pain starts the saddest saga of human
suffering, a salt lake melting in each eye and then in
every courtroom the defence for the crimes, bail -
out by the buried dark sniffing of fecundity.

The night wraps me, the land of my birth
haunts in its greenness, the wounded sea bids
refugees to hostile shores, a cracked sun
welcomes the lost umbical cords.



• On the plight of SRI LANKAN TAMILS

Satish Verma

FOGGING

Walk rosie, walk on the serrated thorns;
exiting the blue abyss, shamelessly a baby god climbs

a salt mountain, incantatory, flicks
through: cranberry, cranberry it was the end of beginning,

the whole, was in peril, bits flying, licking
the toes, upending the truth, cracks appearing one by one

the attic was full of portraits, atrium empty, the
blue landscape latched to windows, a sick air map,

pseudumonas again attacking the viscera, festering,
a roadshow full of blisters, ribbed easily, climbing

on the poles to get a look at queenbee, pretending
to replace the beyond, we will remain faithfull.

Satish Verma

THE VIGIL

Floaters swim in acrid clouds, I watch
myself killed by me, the image was real, oracular

ashen grey, sitting on a sand dune
I listen to the silence of bending and roaring faults,

the life repeats the mistake, possessed, chasing
the wheels, fever rising, the swish of a snake,

time; could not make it, daintly the moon drifts on
the dark contours, ripples of a lake, a flock

of birds turns inland into shadows of chorus
a small city of voices seeks freedom.

Satish Verma