A POEM

A poem, like death-was
unpredictable. You wait for it,
it does not come.

Then you drag a corpse
on stones to find its home
which never materializes.

You give me a hurt. I
become mute. Very shy
to accept the verbatim.

How different we are
in alikeness. I touch you in twilight
of life to become one.

And from daily life
I gather the pain, to print
the version of tomorrow.

Satish Verma

MY AFFAIRS

It was the presence.
Somewhere magnolias
were in bloom.

At this moment, there
was a meek withdrawl
sidestepping the explosion.

In the hour of
waking. Moon was sleeping,
morning after the acid attack―

putting ahead the
dilemma, before the sun rises
retracting the claim for martyrdom.

Anxiety was writ
large on the volte-face of earth
when it failed to lasso the witch.

Satish Verma

THE STRANGER

Ready to pounce on
a scarecrow.
The ants were hungry.

It was a dried bone―
frame, wearing the royal
costume, waiting for the moon.

Can you play with the
jewels and still
remain poor?

The suckers refuse to
shrink, taking away skin,
the eyes, the ears.

It overwhelms the loneliness,
the silence, the colossus,
and the two-faced king in making.

Satish Verma

THIS KIND OF TIME

What noun was combative,
enduring the poison, when
you were subject of―
the history, which will
remain unwritten?

The war was on, in the
night of terror. You cannot
reach the extremeties, for the
sake of modesty. Violence
sits in speech, in dirty words.

The flesh needs new blood,
and blood demands the bone
of justice that will not―
conceive mutilation. You become
benevolent in spreading the fear.

Satish Verma

Living Dangerously

A moon interrupted;
riles the social class.
A native sense comes of age.

Piercing stare becomes rarefied,
unbuttons the peaks and
kills you with a mallet.

The scared mask falls
off the divine embrace, lets
free the pigeons from the golden cage.

The forked tongue will
speak only truth. Blood
was the only stain, washed easily.

I will get the tan
in moonlight only. My scars
will remain invisible in silver.

Satish Verma

DECIDUOUSLY

You did not want to play―
into the strength,
of the other.

Wrecking the pecking order,
to become poorer,
giving away your entire height?

I could live,
without your blasts, O sun,
but I need my moon,
for whole night.

It pervades,
the dark matter, in every pore.
Like gingko tree
I will drop all the pretentions
tonight, and become leafless.

Satish Verma

BEING WATCHED

The one happening;
which never happned.
A slice of mock invasion on
inner sanctum to find your own name.
Who were you?
A mind not on the mend? A
house you were not living in?

The forecast was wary of strangers.
A deadly intent was hurling
the desires onto the stones
of eyes. A fog hides the melt.

You were not ready for syntax,
a rhyme breaks into sobs.
Washed by pain, a sting
becomes the poem.

Satish Verma

OH GOD

Impromptu, word by
word, I will anoint you
with poetry.

*

Moon was sinking
slowly, watching me
reciting an elegy.

*

The gates were still
closed, for the candle
bearers to stand vigil.

Satish Verma

IN QUICKSAND

It is the truth which
never was. After many
deaths I will come to you
to repeal my verses.

The festering earth was
making the rains green,
to suck the dry sands
thrown by the angry winds.

The soul upturns the body.
You will crawl in a tunnel
to come out for sedation
accepting the karma.

A non-acceptance of the
straitjacket. Let the anxiety
rise like a beast.

Satish Verma

WAIST-HIGH SUNK

When you release the
words, your curled fingers
burst into flame.

It was an ancient filth,
a bird fighting in the mud-
house of quote-unquote.

Someone navigated
over the bald heads to find
a landing place for a cuckoo.

Between real and fiction,
you cannot write a hymn
in praise of satan, called god.

I am done with the darkness
all around, and rip open
the wall to let in the jupiter.

Satish Verma

SOME QUESTIONS

The black holes ringed
the galaxy. Tainted
moon, was in tow.

*

Any generational gap
was evident between
Neanderthals and humans?

*

How our brain works
I wanted to know?
Are there any real men?

Satish Verma

OVERBALANCING

The space between the
two ends, was becoming
a game of thorns.

The leprous increase
tips the moon. An unseen
virgin becomes red rose.

It was another day in
the desert. I don't want
to become a prophet.

A titular sun was
collecting the lilies to
divide the night in halves.

Manipulating the nucleus,
are you ready to accept
the uncommitted sin?

Satish Verma

Fair Play

When God kings come―
down stealthly,
it is your waking time.

You had never counted the awards.
Refrained from watching the oblation.
When blood pooled on
the floor, you were holding
a love child of moon
and earth.

Do you think a collateral
damage will ensue, when you
chart out the trajectory of missiles?

The incredible ink will not
go dry on the tongue, when you
read a ghazal of indomitable
pen.

Today I climb a red
mountain to know my height.

Satish Verma

THE ETERNAL QUEST

You cast doubt,
on the definition.
Gods play with words,
like winged fruits,
Man becomes the spawn of destiny.

Sparrows were flying
out. I will watch―
the window closed. A slant of
light withers away.
I am writing my poems in dark.

The vintage rings under
the eyes, will retrieve
the lost meaning of
truth, from the ruins of
time. I will again start my pilgrimage.

Satish Verma

WOUNDED VEILS

Some question?
It always haunted me.
In combat posture,
why would I become a child?
To cry and learn a laugh?
Karma?

A green memory,
of the shade of bougainvillea's
arbor, entwining the wooden pain
of my frame, to know
the faith of water, improvidently
creating the false interiors.

How far was the home?
You want to toe the
peace of garden, blue sky
and dark night.

Satish Verma

UNCONCLUSIVE

O stark avenger,
Time.
I will come on your lapses,
when every moment,
tells a lie.


Was it wrong time?
To ask the poem go,
binary?
on a fringe thought?

Has the angst a right,
to explore the fast moving
mind, to experiment
with the answer?

We are on the crossroads,
to know ourselves,
driven by the fragrance,
man-made.

The words are only transient!

Satish Verma

UNCONCLUSIVE

O stark avenger,
Time.
I will come on your lapses,
when every moment,
tells a lie.


Was it wrong time?
To ask the poem go,
binary?
on a fringe thought?

Has the angst a right,
to explore the fast moving
mind, to experiment
with the answer?

We are on the crossroads,
to know ourselves,
driven by the fragrance,
man-made.

The words are only transient!

Satish Verma

UNCONCLUSIVE

O stark avenger,
Time.
I will come on your lapses,
when every moment,
tells a lie.


Was it wrong time?
To ask the poem go,
binary?
on a fringe thought?

Has the angst a right,
to explore the fast moving
mind, to experiment
with the answer?

We are on the crossroads,
to know ourselves,
driven by the fragrance,
man-made.

The words are only transient!

Satish Verma

THE MIDDLE GROUND

I try to think,
not to think of you;
cede hope to candor.

You will not contribute,
to your own rape, of truth;
rediscovering the shame.

The modesty will not sit
on the stigmata.
Moths were becoming defiant.

Copiously drenched,
under the wet moon,
a poem will seek a title.

It returns back, the
kiss, you sent for the flame.
It was very hot, the farewell.

Satish Verma

EVOKING IMAGES

It was not easy to recall,
the love in truancy. Needs
extra gene. I would wake up in blue
darkness for an aubade.
The salt glitters when I
shut the mind.

In random wreckage,
the first glow before dawn,
sets you on fire. A star gazing
begins, buried in the flesh, only
the eyes protruding, incapable
to locate the moon.

A blank paper floats. You
were surfing on words. Not
yet to meet the inevitable. Not
the kiss of hurt. I am coming
to unfurl the opus, the
noble commitment of navel crossing.

Satish Verma