A Blackbird Will Not Sing

How would you describe
the stampede, when there was
no crowd sourcing?

You can draw a perfect
square. If I lose and you gain a miss.

You cannot win a war
without coitus.

The life and death
of a jinx was there to see.

The sun will have a moon―
moment in dark.

Who was building the pain
of emptiness, when
I am filled with grief?

Satish Verma

What A Wrath

Another woman
sits on rose hips
and talks about the spirits.

At sunset point,
I watch you undress,
in fading moon.

I would be talking
to the heap of my failures
for the sake of my touchdown.

There was no looking back
in dim light, when―
you were colorblind.

The arrow tip was
dipped in curare.
It goes straight into the beast.

Satish Verma

Orgy Of Pain

There should not have been
any question marks on your
forehead. I am afraid―
you were becoming very typical..

Have you understood―
the meaning of life? There were
no clear answers from
your signs.

Weather was very unstable.
Remaining just private, I was
hiding you in my tears.
O my truth, what was my first lie?

Night will not throw any
shadows. I will wait for the moon
to rise. This ugly earth may look
beautiful. Did you paint―
your body with colors of fall?

Every leaf becomes my poem.

Satish Verma

My Injured Self

In your big eyes
my mission ends.
I lower the flag to half-mast.

The steps were small
to follow the footprints
of the demise of an affair.

Embracing the words,
you had felt pampered by
the demigoddess
of broken hills.

The white muslin, weaves into a wreath;
would be laid on the unbuttoned secrets.

The night watchman
stands guard till the last
candle burns out.

Satish Verma

Antithesis

Strangly enough―
it was the most silent night…
I hear the footfalls
of your absence.

There was no affair
between you and me. Only the flames
of frost I was born with. Blue
roses still keep a ritual
of counting the deaths.

I didn't touch you. The
placenta still dragging the neon
light of the womb, the
sins lay bare.

The land mines exploding
one by one. Maimed truths speak
of the communion
with unseen gods, who will not come out
in the courtyard.

Satish Verma

It Is

Telling a big no
was easier than conveying
one painful truth.

The hollyhocks come
back again, after the storm.
It was a religion.

Finding happiness,
when you are alone in
darkness of the noon.

Satish Verma

For Whom The Sky Weeps

You stop at the brink, 

to flirt with the rim of
the lake.

Reading yourself in water
you wanted to defang
the life.

The blood berries expose
the guilt of the moon.
Would you sit at the bottom

of the bay and become
a doer? The white cobra waits
till you are paralyzed.

The lovers go crazy
baiting a god, to unleash
the trapped tempter.

A conflict between a
prey and the bottle. You
do not want to live in luxury.

Satish Verma

From Suicidal Angle

You become a crimson
dusk in a sea of greens.
The cost of the murder
had increased.

With lock and key you
can enter a new era of
misunderstandings
and misquotes.

The fertility cult skips
the gravel, catches hold
of thighs and climbs
the fame.

Healer was in great
despair. Grape seeds were
ready to sell the garden
of honeysuckles.

Oh novice, don't go alone
in the war-zone of suicide―
bombers. They were looking for
the witch in breaches.

Satish Verma

Snaky Paths

In deafening silence
I was hearing you,
trying to taste and smell
the traces left by you.

Choosing between hope
and despair, I gather
the old coins. There was no
clue to understand the movement of shadows.

Earth is melting into
water. In rapt attention I
watch the footdrop, of placenta.
It will be a stillborn moon.
No honey, no elixir.

In a deadpan approach,
you will not communicate the
death sentence for echoes.
I will not take the side of inevitable.

Let the book start
burning the poems.


Satish Verma

Coming Face To Face

When a gravedigger
mourns―
the impasse ends.
A robot turns on the rains.

With horror, you release
the doves to reach for
olive branches for peace.

Paraplegic, the horse
will not run― on hawthorns.
King was decapitated.

You talk to your seers
sleeping six feet down in earth
to explain the genocide―

of unborn fathers, when
they were praying
headdown for downpour.

Satish Verma

Improbabilis

Forever the rituals
of hate and love continue.
The sun survives the feet.

You cannot run. It
disconnects you. There was
no beginning, no middle
no end.

Shapeless, unborn figures will
decide the fate of seeds. You
were sowing the bones.

Pulling out the head
of a terrorist from the rubble,
sometimes you forget―

the contours of the enemy.
Existentially you wanted to crack
open the psyche of man.

It was a blue parable.
Do you believe in utopia?

Satish Verma

Engraving Your Name On Trees

Telling the truth
was becoming difficult. You want to
become a cult.

A sinister design takes
hold of a satanic urge. You
start throwing the limbs.

Was it an emotional upheaval?

The train whistles by.
You are ready to board. Unsleeping
you will rhyme with the wheels.
Home was left behind. A hollow
tree waits for you to become another Buddha.
Fantasy moves beyond the fiction.

Irises move to close
the pupils. They want to become nuns.

The coffin was empty.
A cadaver morphs into an angel.

Satish Verma

Green Waters

Gifting yourself the speed―
you betray me, when
I was trying to heal―
the injured wings of time.

Archipelago. The islands
were very lonely in frozen lake.
No boat was in sight.

Having no coastline,
the landlocked language,
suffers the ignominy of the tribe.

The neighbourhood crawls
after the nose-dive of
the plane without agenda.

Shelterless, you want more
sunshine to fight with
the cold beach.

Satish Verma

The Broken Statue

A sleepchaser brings
a quantum of pain
to fight the ugly night.

The patient attack
on the lids
for the sake of absinthe.

The son of lakes―
would bring in goat
to drink the elixir.

I would not talk
about the exile, which
one earned by donating―
the kidneys.

The blade of grace
cuts the sun into small
chapels which become eyes
of street dancers.

Satish Verma

Ghostwriting

Flaunting your new skin
like a salamander,
ready to endure fire,
O stranger,
read me,
read my tears,
the pathbreaker is going back.

I will not extort, never your integrity.
The trump has committed suicide.
A game was over. I am
gathering my ruins to go
into winter sleep.
Let the sun wait for eternity.

Somebody was climbing
on the breast rocks. There were
no landing planks. Words
mingle with four― leaf clovers.
You can inhale the smoke,
eat the walls of palace. I open
the latch of mud house and
disappear in future.

Satish Verma

Pulsating Moods

Advent of strange
sign on forehead was asking
for the laughing eye.

A cessation of
botched therapy was a need.
God was still alive.

The birth pangs
were becoming stronger
with every fall of trust.

The gravest thing
was the love of moon.
It keeps you smiling.

Satish Verma

Not A Banal Taste

Privileged of remaining
grey in the hands of enemy,
I say to myself―
why not turn dark.

You will erase the ancient bliss.
It had made you a goliath beetle.

The weapons become the
shining medals. I would fill the―
gap of gender space.

But, when the doors become
shut, light tends to cling
the floaters― moving in straight line.

You reach for the falling
crumbs of age. The pain opens
the sky of withering vision.

Satish Verma

The Mysterious Fire

I was a poem
reinventing the estranged
diaspora of words.

No regrets. Eliciting
the sane suffering,
which did not bode ill.

Breaking the silence
I will reclaim the groped
virginity of stones, which
had witnessed unparalleled assault.

I was your earth,
and I was your space.
You zoomed through me
like a comet, piercing my body
my bones,
my sky.

An angel paints
his body with moonlight,
in blue theme.

Satish Verma

Twisting The Watercolors

Lost on the way
to find the wetland
where lily of the valley grows.

Have you seen a
lily-trotter?
The floating leaves tremble.

Talking of karma,
Would you like to become
a monkshood?

The woodpecker was
marking its territory till
late night.

Satish Verma

Winter Solstice

The chase, the speed―
the kill. How far you go to―
retrieve the dead horse
from the river.

Floating bridge, I
wanted to drink the
moon in red.

The chimes would not
winter― in falling snow.
Can you bring me some hot blood?

The ceramic arms spray
the liquid memories on the
grass, all night.

Later when the sky
fails, I will bring the
sun to wipe out the tears.

Satish Verma

Let Me Kiss A Flame

In my pensive moon
I knew you better.

Never to come back from
the winds of East.
I ask my shadow, the prisoner
of stings, where the truth begins?

I will never smear
you with any stain. Culled
from foam-born, goddesses,
you become my apple,
which I would not bite.

From green lakes of eyes
will you pick a new name
and disappear on the wings
of light to become a daughter
of rainbow?

Why did you turn your head,
to have a last look at
the painfinder?

The sun will go down in many colors.

Satish Verma

The Thinning Faith

The whipped up temper
for a mass destruction―
of thoughts. A squeaking floor,

summons the―
last measure of strength, to manipulate
the blackboards,

to draw skylights,
to do everything to bring in
the hope.

A fracturing dilemma
seeks annexation from the blind faith.
You had started doubting on yourself.

Beyond the high pitched
dramatics of banging doors, I
stand below the windows for harmony.

Satish Verma

The Words Of Blank Paper

Not reading your eyes
today, walking on
burning cinders.

In search of green
darkness, to sleep on the breasts
of waiting moon.


The fear of woods, hiding
the tiger beetles. They
run very fast to snatch the prey.

No agenda. Outside is
very cold. The poet will
see the fall of veins.

The road still entices.
Endless dreams and―
no halts to get the kiss of eternal rest.

Satish Verma

Blue Dragons

When you would not be there
where I was, my fingers will twist
like questionmarks
not getting any answer.

Baby talks were increasing.
Time to leave this planet. There
was no death. We move from
breath to breath.

Sleeping without blinking,
dreamless, with hope, to
resuscitate the dawn.

Who will keep the fire
burning? You have not kept
the promise to come back.

King of stones, don't throw
the black statues in river.
Water was red and palms were
burning.

Satish Verma

Creamy Swipes

The virgin moon
and young lover―
talking in hushed tones.

The speed was the
limit of suspended
economy of wood pecking.

Sap suckers abound
on the pretext of exploring
the depth of resistance.

My bones were your
enemy, your flesh was
my temple.

I will bring daffodils
when sun sits
and night falls.

Satish Verma

Audio Pain

I cannot hear you
in my absence―
for a transient heartache.

Life gives you a dirty slap
and you write a poem
and this was not to happen overnight.

Looking at you straight
I discover myself
surrounded by glares.

From where the horse
was felled, a warrior makes
a hole in earth to reach
the flesh of time.

The flames take away the
gifts of death. Only the grey
ash smears the face of moon.

Satish Verma

I Will Know

Time was short
and I was in hurry.

In Prophet of grief―
humility of pain was evident,
when you bit your tongue,
chewing unsavory words.

It was the trouble.
You wanted me to wait―
till eternity.

Someone throws an incendiary
device towards me.
I am burnt alive.

There was no need to invite
a moon. When talking to
you, I need a dark night.

Counting annual rings
of a felled fig tree,
Buddha becames very sad.

Satish Verma

Without Vendetta

You are putting
stones in empty coffin.
It may harbor the ―
methane after the tribal savagery.

The internal search
still goes on to find the
abode of no-gods.

This grief of burying
yourself in deep freeze like
a mammoth to―
be found later as an ecstasy.

How do you count the heads―
that will not say―
any prayers now, without
the bodies?

You can walk the rest of miles in universal pain.

Satish Verma

Who Will Stop You

The white ribbon
gives you an angle.
Moon will rise from that point.

The summer dwells
in your poppies.
I was walking with feet of clay.

My eyes will collect
your scarlet lips,
for a deathless painting.

There it was, the body in
velvet, lying under the shade.
Only moon was naked.

Satish Verma

Moon Child

Blessed dying
like a fading moon―
with no watermark.

A candle's flame
makes a hole in your shaking hand.

Skids off― on the
unpaved dirt road, a sleep catcher.

Climbing on moon shaped
rocks for the final jump.

Comes like a throwback
dialogue, what you did not say.

I will go in the wings now.
It is your turn to come
on the stage.

A nameless baby was born
on paper. It has
become an epic.

Satish Verma

Extraversion

Being outsider,
you will not be excused.

Deluded perfectly.
This was a holy crime to be
burned out.

You can walk
round and round around the bed,
in search of sleep.
This night was yours.

I had embarrassed
the moon. It was watching me
from the window with a quizzical look.

Of meager existence
an asteroid wants―
to beat the sun.

The palm holds the secret of orbs.

Satish Verma

For A Pinch Of Light

The black thread
tied on your wrist was
meant to end the siege.

The fire-eaters were
back. I will watch
the birth of violence.

When the night
comes. I will move from
door to door for a flame.

Fireflies will assemble
to mourn the death
of the baby moon.

Satish Verma

Into Her Deep Eyes

To read a map―
listening to your inner voice, for
changing the green color
of eyes.

I was studing you,
in the caravan of desert,
leaving the roots
going nowhere.

I will wait for the fall
to pick up my crisp, memories
breaking off from―
the sad trees of life.

Stepping stones were
beautiful, not the feet. I might
have erred in draping the
people who were fake.

Sometimes you mourn
the vision of dying moon.
It will not bleed―
till you cry.

Satish Verma

Burning With Flames

Who calls my name
when I am absent
from the stage?

Do you want me
for the endgame, my
future decided beforehand?

Until you come back
I will remain in
shadows of time to come.

The grape seed extract
and your brown
irises have, become water lilies.

And I catch fire
in midstream, when
night was feeding the moon.

Satish Verma

Like An Old Song

Walking in mental
fog, you become
a swaying tree.

In mistiness
one becomes lonely
like a blackbird.

Hollyhocks
would wait, till
the sun comes out.

December rain
brings the gift―
of sleet on lips.

Satish Verma

The Invisible

Debt laden
I turn the ashes
where you left the footmarks.

My native pain
will not go, for a distant truth.

Unscheduled
like a robot,
you kill your own, noiselessly, and then
think with your guts.

Achingly you admit
the alien for a lipless kiss,
struggling to hold back your tears.

A star breaks, in green dark,
without throwing light.
I beg the sky to give back my baby.

Forgive me,
O unforgettable, I never
understood myself.

Satish Verma

Opening The Fist

Scavenging the art
of life, you strip
to the bones …

The wild hunt for
the blue jay ends
in exile.

Time plays a cruel
game. You win, and are
served the crab apples.

Like Sylvia Plath―
you betray yourself,
but poems stop you.

A bling of your voice―
deflects the stardust.
A granite will become you.

Satish Verma

The Delicate Dives

You always speak
from the eyes.
My sun will send the clouds.

No it isn't. You
wanted to look away
hiding the moons.

Extra-virgin. No way.
Tree was crying.
Branches gone, no olives.

This city will start
a trade. Selling
glass eyes of many shades.

Satish Verma

My Other Poem

It was me.
Real not surrogate,
behind the words.

A way of lips, without
you, with few things to disengage
upon, what the agony demands.

On skin, a lump
was rising― straight
from the animal instinct,
discussing the religion of predators.

A manhood was
in peril, unregarded by
otherness. You want to collect the scars now.

Because you belong to me
like a moon to earth.
We both were moving in different
orbits, trying to touch each
other, undying, for sun.

It breaks the heart, when
it is moonless night.

Satish Verma

Stone Eyes

The wayward words
will not make any difference.
I am filling the pit
with singing stones after the assault.

The killer drip levels the pain.

Karyons? Will you
crack the code of downward
spiral? Nuts. The
nuclear intimacy goes berserk.

The nodding consent
of a fallen star, was ready
for decapitation.

Trash. You always return
to tragedy. Why don't you shut
the eyes and become a clover?

Satish Verma

Chameleonic

Like a birthmark
you will remain
on my forehead.

Round cups and
blue drinks, the dark
side was capitulating.

You become my
partner, I will unleash
many moons.

I intended to
talk in walk about the
woes of life.

Satish Verma

The Golden Gate

Was it too late
to find out, who was
morally wrong?

It was an art of dying
for you.

Shapeless, a big pain
flourishes in my limbs,
but I remain too static
to locate my roots.

The bell will not ring today.
Somebody kills a story.
There was no hero.

Resting, my head on stones
I will bleed rest of life.

No cuts. No bruises appear.
Naked as an arrow,
a sharp gilded attack
opens the cage.

Satish Verma

Haunted

In a cruel joke,
the torturer becomes
the tortured.

The colossus in its
aloneness, meets the goddess
of death for once and
messenger turns
into message.

The mixer of violence
and mantras, becomes god of
non-believers.

Let me disappear from
the words, a smoke
rising from the book.

Unpraised I was in between the names.

Satish Verma

Standing In Canyons

Treading―
through self, you will
discover your other side.

A gateway
lotus pond, where you
will talk nonstop to poems.

My evening dress sheds
the microview―
of flesh for rising moon.

A pansy speaks
for the first time of
death's dilemma, to stay or to go.

Satish Verma

Blinking Lights

I let it go, sometimes
my unborn poem―
listening to my
wilderness inside.

Spreads the pain in
every cell. I welcome
the poison proffered to me.

Life becomes a message to me
of no return. You
can only move forward, towards
the edge―
joining the family.

A forest grows in―
you, when you fail to
curtsy the black verses
of white days.

There were any choices?

Satish Verma

Improvising

Like a snake girl,
the black tresses trailing
behind the heels.

The wavering moon was,
gliding in blue sky,
for a rendezvous.

The beds had
become obsolete. Time to
use oneiric rocks.

Faith was no
more relevant. Now
you hear the dreams.

Satish Verma

Cuckoo Will Sing Again

Way off at point-of-no-return,
my geometry,
collided with you for the last spell.

Lines, angles and curves had
started chopping off the hills of grace.

I had lost my path
in the slant profiles of brown eyes.

You stood in shade, like a
bronze sculpture of Michelangelo.

And suddenly you realized,
it was not enough.The moon
becomes pale.A palm tree
swings in its scars.
At distance the horizon crashes.

Time tricks you.Bones crackle.
The poem was born again,
bluish grey gem.

Satish Verma

Unmoving

Investing your hands
to write something unique―

the parrots flew out from
your lips. You will not mimic the beasts.

Avoiding taking sides, the
torture remains unexplained, but
we were always bleeding.

Between eyes and paper, words
float to land in haste. Faith
was ready to self-immolate.

It was not a political commentary.
Some poems really want to become poems.

Read my money. It cannot buy any death.

Satish Verma

Aftereffects

Give me your smile
like dew drops of rose―
the tears like pearls.

The flight of swans―
writing a secret message
for the forlorn earth.

Celebrating the return
of the lost river―
after the torrential rains.

A boat sails
in bright moonlit
dark waters of the moat.

Satish Verma

Thinking Of You

Once I had asked
the nightingale, why did
you need to remain in
my thoughts?

And cloning of words
want to save my
orchard?

Was it provocative,
for a flame to become intimate
with a volcano?

And you must wait for
the tranquil sea to explode
into a mountain of ice
for the otherness.

And at invisible moon
a swan glides to bring back
its princess from the clutches
of yellow earth, which
has gone insane.

Satish Verma

Very Unsettling

This was the collective
fall, unsolving
the riddle of life.

In memoriam, I
light― tens of millions
of candles for each departed thought.

Ahead were hard times
of darkness, I wanted to
view the world from a cadaver eyes
after being cheated, robbed
and abused―

to be born again with
a blank book, as a white sheet
on dust-ridden toes.

Nobody will know
that a father was coming home
to seek the unborn children.

Satish Verma

Sometimes

Under the denuded
chinars, I stand
again, waiting for you.

The hawks were
pining, for a prey―
in morning prayers.

The chrysanthemums
stand in a row―
opening their hands.

Sometimes you
trace the plum scent
coming from lover's grave.

Satish Verma

To Agni

O goddess of priests,
in punishing myself
I found you today.

Tonight you will sleep
in my eyes,
and I will search my
lost poems.

Did you touch the
faded leaves to bring back
a withered spring?

A song still waits in the throat of a cuckoo.

The wasted years!
Do you hear me, walking
in sleep on burning coals as
a penance for the world
going wrong.?

What did I do? I ask my
past, my present, my unhappened future?

Satish Verma

In Darkened Mood

Deflecting the logistical
guide, you were
becoming a juggernaut―
running after the shadows of kites.

Mute testimony of a
bare cut of imagined
willow, which would not weep
for the winds.

Becoming surrealistic, you
knew too much of the truth, when
you were drunk on lies. Why
the poems were murdered in day light?

First time looking at a large
landscape, I skipped the beauty,
the land and the clouds.
Only the birds were flying.

Satish Verma