COLLATERAL

When the curtain falls, the puzzled instinct 
inherits the confusion of clouds. The beleaguered 

moon goes into a rage. Hungry vultures start 
a wait for the fall of a titan, stimulating the sun 

to exhibit the trove of the golden rings. Go 
blackberries, with bloody roses into the dawn. 

Whole night our bones had gone crazy. Flickering 
like stars on the lake of speechless body. 

All his life he was searching for the windows 
to let in the fire for burning up the boots.

Satish Verma

Molten Grief

Give me back, 
me back, my affections. 
I had planted the kisses on 
melting lamps. 

The dark tunnel goes 
to a lake for a rendezvous 
with pink death on white lips 
of cinders. 

Such agony of wintering tree. 
Not a single bird 
on the branches to pump the green 
blood for the wheels of time. 

The speeding moon was in hurry, 
to question the oppressed night. 
Why the days were becoming 
shorter and shorter?

Satish Verma

Molten Grief

Give me back, 
me back, my affections. 
I had planted the kisses on 
melting lamps. 

The dark tunnel goes 
to a lake for a rendezvous 
with pink death on white lips 
of cinders. 

Such agony of wintering tree. 
Not a single bird 
on the branches to pump the green 
blood for the wheels of time. 

The speeding moon was in hurry, 
to question the oppressed night. 
Why the days were becoming 
shorter and shorter?

Satish Verma

Molten Grief

Give me back, 
me back, my affections. 
I had planted the kisses on 
melting lamps. 

The dark tunnel goes 
to a lake for a rendezvous 
with pink death on white lips 
of cinders. 

Such agony of wintering tree. 
Not a single bird 
on the branches to pump the green 
blood for the wheels of time. 

The speeding moon was in hurry, 
to question the oppressed night. 
Why the days were becoming 
shorter and shorter?

Satish Verma

Obsessıon

Would not place any price-tag 
on me. Like a mannequin dug out from a pit 
goes for sale. 

Abhor the duplicity. 
Want to walk straight – 
without the golden thong. 

The city goes in flames 
in a circle. 
A new fountain was singing. 

They were landing in flocks. 
The old birds of same plumage 
coming to collect the due of old virgins. 

There was no message. 
Letterbox was empty. 
I will not wait for snowfall in the Antarcita.

Satish Verma

HUNGRY

Be my sleep, I tell a dream. 
A lantern was chasing the shadows 
on wall. My fever? 
I say, past one awakening 
I will sleep eternally. 

The age licks the grief of fallen 
pride. I was still walking on 
sharp stones, bleeding inside. 
Howling, 
here I come from the caves. 

A whole truth becomes unholy 
when mixed with crackers and has 
a loud noise. Let the river of life 
flow in breast in night of hunger 
without a provider.

Satish Verma

MONILIA

Irreverent arsenic of lake bottom 
was seeping in me 
I was riding on waves, moon-stuck. 

The nude shot 
of anemone, blindfolded 
after the criminal assault. 
Why they were throwing the lewed comments? 

A raw cave 
of white pain, drags the deity out 
and dances on hawthorns. 
The butchers become sick, 
sick to the bones. 

O democracy, king was not wise, 
wise was not king.

Satish Verma

CROSSING NAMES

Unrepenting you start 
from a sore point 
to ask an explanation 
from an eclipse of the sun. 

unreviving, 
a corpse, the moon carries the burden 
of light, on its bloodied shoulder 
for burial in dew. 

Half the century we were 
reciting the prayers to open 
a blocked artery of a dying god 
who would not share our bandages. 

The bride steps out 
from dark, 
unveiled, and undoes the hairs. 
There was fire in her eyes 
and ice on her lips.

Satish Verma

SMALL WINDOWS

This road trip to moon will not end 
through the shards of shattered, 
small prints of sleep. 

A ravaged nest lived behind tomorrow 
in necklace of past apologies. 
Hanging by fan was ending of today. 

We talked of dirty nights and bright glasses 
in the strange land of gobblers. The 
greed was the keyward. 

I was not ready to comb the promises. 
Power of poverty and deprivation 
has brought together the broken hearts. 

Let’s kill the syllables after inferno 
dousing the truth of life. Who knows 
when we will meet in darkness.

Satish Verma

DUMBFOUNDED

A blacksmith exploded a missile 
at point-blank 
to lower the animal 
in a candid manner. 
So close that truth went brute. 

Nativity of a patriarch 
was challenged. 
The birds had migrated a long distance 
to find the water. 
The doors remained unlocked. 

An apology for the flesh. Bones 
had exited long back. Sermon 
was writ large on the face of moon. 
Night was very black. 
Aphonia was the word.

Satish Verma