FLYING GLASS SHARDS

The mess you made, was
apocalyptic.
How the debris streaks
like a fireball.

The blood becomes
a sheer truth.
Moist, sticky on
your hands.

Up in your sleeves
the past hed planted
many wrecks,
You will not be able to retrieve.

The burnt-out roses
emit a beautiful odour.
The phoenix rises again
from the colored ash.

Satish Verma

THE CLAN

As I come, for molarity
without molars.
No grinding was left
in the millstones.

The family
accumulates. My distorted shape
will not accept
the broken ankle.

Paraplegic, you run
faster than meteriorite.
The boom was heard
beyond cacophony.

It had come from
the blue. The burning anchor
of desire, without
the damp eyes.

Satish Verma

OBSTINACY

Be tender, with me―
in midstream.
I will not arrive.

Perversity was not
my virtue. I am still
burning on coals.

It was a disappearing act.
I become a brown rose
in your eyes.

The impacted glitch.
I was not deft
at the art of weaving a ritual.

I carry the dried skull,
of my unknown ancestor,
who would not come back to home.

Satish Verma

LIKE AN ASTEROID

Burning rocks had
a near miss. The
questions splatter
the blood-

to inspire and break
you inside and out.
Unbecoming, to end the
relationship. The story―

begins of an introvert.
The ungreen grass waits
for your wet toes,
to breathe again.

The blood-money was
very high, after the―
violent end of a
blade run.

My pillow is soaked of
a moonfall. The anguish
of a bodyless grave
was haunting.

Satish Verma

SENT ANONYMOUSLY

It returns to haunt,
the dilemma, of disowning
the old version of truth;
when I was searching the parallelism
for the sake of otherness.

The unreturning melancholia,
brings the surreal intruder,
I did not want to entertain.

The insane activity of heart
wants a sin uncommitted.

The flirt eyes like a tulip
between your fingers,
unrolling the tender petals.

Night throws the salt on the moon.

There were no tears.

Satish Verma

UNEXISTING

A fugitive moon
appeared, after the blaze of the sun,
in a frozen standoff,
died.

My room was dappled
with pale moonbeams shadows,
nestled on the―
blue walls.

There was a constant drumbeat
coming nearer. He wanted
to quit. You cannot change
the legacy of dark rooms.

A manhunt must start
for the thief who stole away
all the voices of
a departed soul.

Satish Verma

Secret

Calling back, the snatcher.
After the outrage,
Eros was on run.

*

The lyrics melt
on lips. Moon will
not tell the wind.

*

A sparrow sits at window sill
when I am thinking
and looks straight into my eyes.

Satish Verma

Implacable

The moon titled her head
and went inarticulate
in black and white.

Seeding the earth with
stupor, undoing my―
poem in water.

An asteroid crashed in
my blue lake. Sit beside me,
I would say to a songbird.

The cardinal sin was
to abandon the throne
and climb down at night.

What was the designer's
love, I will ask, when I
was preparing myself for a self-denial.

Satish Verma

TABOOS

This was a shock treatment.

Becoming friends
with aperitifs.

We drink the eyes
in remorse.

Unabridged. I clean the words
on the whiteboard. The
tongues were black.

Dilemma of stings.
No flesh was left
on the bones.

The body,
becomes a river.
You are drowned
in pink folds.

Satish Verma

DYING ART

The wind was in your hair,
I will bring the
valley, for you.

A major shake up. People
bend the moon
on the lake, against hanging.

The snow-capped peaks
would collect all the green fires
for the running tribe.

The centuries weep
for the unknown warriors;
who were born to look like chaff―

becoming fodder. I will
ask the god to write a requiem
for a person, who dies
thinking too much.

Satish Verma

Unsucceeding

After the
elective execution,
you reach at the
end of nowhere.

A wayward
cloud stands alone
under the plump moon.

It is absolutely―
white, like the
wings of a swan.

Beneath the earth
you want to dig out
the remains of dark hoods.

Gale-force winds
promise to make you
snow-blind.

Satish Verma

DISORIENTED

I was worried.
A deviant had lost the shape,
and had thrown a word at your face.

The black name was crawling
on the white paper. It was not
a rape, but the abduction―
of a mystic.

The snake time. Politics.
The crowd was celebrating the death.
What would you say, death
had many names?

I want to sleep with you tonight,
O moon. The slave
had become the master.

Satish Verma

The Secret Path

Often,
I will return to myself,
to meet a lost ancestor;
exploring the statics―
of the room, from where the journey
had started.

I will read your face in dark. The
wrinkles, the broken teeth,
and the foggy vision.

The fire escape now lies bereft
of trappings. There is a blank space
there, sucking the sky.

The pragmatism had taken over
and I was left over with
the figures in stones.

I am trying to walk again
deep into the woods. The time stands
still. I am ready for an
uncounter with unknown.

Satish Verma

THE NECTARINE BLISS

The nectar,
coming from nowhere,
settles on your lips.

*

A peacock
will show all the eyes,
wide open.

*

What will it mean
if a nuke is fired,
noiselessly, as a depth charge?

Satish Verma

A Labyrinthine Passage

It was oneness,
which brought my poetry
in the folds of autumn.

From words apart
you want to talk in space
for transparent signs.

The city sleeps
in morning mist, without
opening the windows―
of consciousness.

I come out in open
to watch the lone ficus tree
waiting to become a deity
of the walking shadows.

Satish Verma

Incinerated

I don't find words.
Words will find me crying,
when a drone hits the coral reef.

Between guilty and
innocent, the sleep will
level the night and
let go the dreams in sea.

The school of fish dies
in my story. The ship sails
for a new port. I cleave
a pattern of withdrawl.

Roses will come again, to
sign a pact with the unshaven
god, sitting on the pavement,
waiting to be beheaded.

Satish Verma

Underbelly

Unlocking,
the silver knife.
The poetry matters,
when it is dark.

*

Night,
has its own secrets, when,
dew spreads out
the beadings on grass.

*

Blackbuck was ready
to shed the antlers.
Moon was hornless.

Satish Verma

A LONE JOURNEY

Invasion was thin
like a feather's fall
on the mirror.

Only bride will know,
the rose petals were
meant for unthinking.

Scattering rice
to dig out the tools
of prehistonic man.

The previous night
I taught myself
how not to peel the oranges―

with bare hands,
in terror, when there was
endless path to unknown.

Satish Verma

Gods Were Changing

After carbon dating
you will find―
that pain does not shimmer.

The terror of words
and words of terror, testify
against the predator
for twisting a confession.

The world will never be the same!

The savage cool
of the landscape, turns me on.
I decide to burn the
god books.

A charcoal portrait on the wall
tells the truth. The blackbird
will come stealthily. Radar
was aimed at the temple of love.

The world will never be the same!

Satish Verma

PARALYSED

When,
the scream ends, you start
digging the shadows of
red berries.

The sky,
scoops the children of rape,
waiting for
the rains.

The tiger beetle,
will run after the winged prey
of first love.

Would you like to taste
the moon in the dark bowl
of malicious night?

Reading about the spell
of the roses, I went to a
Sufi, for an epitaph.

Satish Verma

WORDS PLAY

Blending with the light,
as ancients did―
on the leafy path.

You turn your gun―
on an old skull,
with broken teeth,

to rewrite the murder,
without qualms. A sniper
would take an aim.

Untouchable, the years
roll by, sending echos
in the valley of tears.

A final stroke.
The blood stops in the veins
while the angel sleeps.

Satish Verma

ABSURD MYTHS

Crossing the divine,
I ask the marigolds
to return to the dust.

The gods were angry,
and dead would not speak
and the living were dead.

I am now heading towards?
the mute bells, disbelieving?
the great enlightment.

Rebuilding what was not true.
A dream will start telling
the price of the inflicted wounds.

I am not sure:
who were at fault.
The letters?
or the words?

Satish Verma

THE STERILITY

Becoming scattered,
the winged visitors
in my chest.

Is there a home―
for sane thoughts in the jungle―
of unthruths?

How long I will
continue my journey
in search of grass?

Satish Verma

SCARRING

The pungent smoke.
Someone was burning
the wet rhymes.

*

A wilted rose
on the red lips of dawn,
facing the moon.

*

The malicious
darkness, you drink,
to welcome the sun.

Satish Verma

WALKING SHADOWS

A cherry legacy
and the orange pick.
Let me go wild.

*

Embellishing
the rock, with flowers,
for a golden fruit.

*

A journey, for
the comfort of slopes,
on the clear lake.

Satish Verma

INTRIGUING

The wind was black
and I wanted to make an eye contact
with the unknown.
Following the stars
in midnight―

there was something called
desire, in clean moon,
untying the knots―
in breast. The truth
was not in kernel,

it was in the flowing veins
of the leaves; sun, trapped
in green carbon. The―
wordless poem dousing
the fire between the cinders.

The cosmic door opens, shuts.
The bird song covers your tracks.

Satish Verma

WRITING FURTIVELY

Becoming musical
at the end time,
like a whooper's swan.

*

The poet sings
for carnations, when
the snow melts.

*

The secret,
you do not want to share
with death.

Satish Verma

THE GIFT OF ABANDONMENT

The fantasy:
of moving in a circle,
taking a flower bath. A metaphysical
misquote. You were losing
your identity.

There was no abstract folly.
I will protect all the concrete truths.

To find a lover in the woods.

Fighting my demons
I start a circuitry of unborn vows.

The onslaughts continue.
Night comes with all its glory
to torment me, in absence of moon.

Satish Verma

Imploring

The ledge, jutting out
in quivering water.
Moon was sitting underneath, on floor.

*

I will look out―
for a songbird.
Something secret, I wanted to share.

*

I do not abuse anybody,
like a mockingbird―
I make a fool of myself.

Satish Verma