GROUNDING

In the surge of dark 
there was a lunar smile in my glass 
I will not abandon the moons 
in your eyes. A white sow was 
going to deliver the babies. 

It was departure time 
and the profile was ready to collapse. 
Mars was throwing the loaves 
to human beings and aliens were 
going to land on earth. 

Sing my baby, sing. Opening the 
knots of life, returning to barn 
in wild tempest. I know I have 
to unearth the buried truth and 
talk to ghosts of lies.

Satish Verma

TORCHES

It was a big trauma. 
Granary went overboard, 
my boat was torpedoed. 

No romance was left now. 
At the burial of the moon 
aliens were arriving. 

You do not want to call it a genocide. 
The massacre of millions, of children 
and women. The civil war was inside you, 

not in the homes of innocents. A god 
falls on the rail-tracks to commit 
suicide. His severed limbs I would not see. 

I want to close the window, 
as the white dove was carrying 
dead leaves for a mass grave.

Satish Verma

HUBBLE TURNS 20

O Hubble 
what was the need, 
to discover, to go beyond 
for it. 

It was here 
in our hearts, 
the dark energy. 
When hearing would be lost. 

I will go extraplanetory 
to find the truth 
of star birth. 
On earth everyday a star is born.. 

On hundred light-years 
down in a bottomless pit. 
The contusion brings out the stale 
abuses. No kindness for even gods.

Satish Verma

SWEATING

Myriad of grasshoppers were sitting 
on the leapless bush 
celebrating the earth. 

I was never happy 
with the anniversary of thirst 
eating the memories of green. 

His hand rummages 
to collect the shrunk berries 
from my chest. 

Today the sun will step down 
in honour of a cloud 
who opened a hole in a collider 

I am the mother 
and I am the father 
of a homeless moon.

Satish Verma

WILDERNESS

Why did you have to come in this world 
to become a medical waste? 

There was no urgency to dropp in 
and then remain unnoticed, 
with no symptoms of life. 
Later scooped by a dumper 
you are thrown on garbage. 

Vertical hope becomes synonym 
for a peak spewing lava. 
A collage sits in my eyes. 
Yet I wipe out tears of anonymity. 
The night comes to hold me in black arms. 

After the squall 
there was the rain and 
unrelenting moon.

Satish Verma

NESTLINGS

Coming face to face with hemlock 
you are not able to rain in the animal 
and start climbing the temperamental tree. 

Fathered by innocence of violence 
on the name of war, when were you 
going to kill? Your own progency? 

Slice by slice I am collecting the 
wrath of tinderbox, dry winds 
and volcano for the sake of peace. 

And I hear the night’s arrival 
without moon, without stars. 
The black needles will stitch the wounds of sun.

Satish Verma

OF LANGUAGE

The particulate allegories 
were tossed around. 
The wheels had refused 
to exit. 

Unscathed, phrases 
were erupting in pulses. 
There was flame and ice 
Inherent - 

in the silicate of 
wedded friendship. 
Who was afraid of the bed 
in heydays 


of thorns down the roses? 
An endless journey for the 
bleeders in labyrinthine life 
of yes and no.

Satish Verma

ONLY METAPHORS

A hidden self portrait 
in a tar pit 
I do not want to explore further. 

Wind was making a big sound 
the tarp blowing off, 
I stand naked under the scortching sun. 

A classless pain rises fiercely 
I am careless about my height 
amdist tall peaks. 

Hypodermic, my little dachshund 
holds the time in small paws 
and plays with my stasis. 

I loose my taste of salt on lips 
charting between the tears 
of infant fears.

Satish Verma

ABSURD FLIGHT

Rain of victims. 
Crossing a parched field 
a summer moon was laughing 
like a naked lie. 
I intend to lie in state, 
no grass was going to cry. 

A red spot was growing 
on your chest. 
Were you shot in heart? 
Creeping, they want to put the sandal paste 
on the dome. 
I walk waist-high between 
the kneeling heads. 

Who were the inmates of the 
black house, 
which was so sexy? 
I do not mean anything, over the head 
a kite was flying.

Satish Verma

DROWNING

I was not indifferent to graffiti 
but oracle was telling a different story 
of embellished arms race 
about the mathematics of terror. 

Less comprehensible 
I presume. 
But who was transparent and 
simple today. 

A wisp was rising among the hills. 
We do not want to know, 
is it scattering the cobalt? 
Toys calling the masters? 

And that sinking feeling, 
they were singing money 
in fake currency which 
was not hot.

Satish Verma