BLACK ROSES

Wading 
in your memories. 
Through 
an orange smoke. 

Against 
a mirror, 
a lake 
shrinks. 

Days are smaller now 
licking 
the night 
I will count the candles 

Of your birthday. 
A haunted landscape 
scoops a wedding 
of a flame with a gale

Satish Verma

THE WALLS

A green smoke was rising 
to ferret out 
the elusive pain 
without body. 

I went in search of 
fidgety words 
to patch up the conflicts 
of flesh. 

Bold as Passiflora, 
Crucifixion was complete. 
Today a gift of obeyance 
will arrive. 

It was a fake. 
The eyes on the hump. 
Camel has to cross 
a steep desert.

Satish Verma

REMEMBERING

You shall read me 
when I am gone 
in green pain. 

There had been gifts 
unhanded. 
Unwrap them in dark – 

when moon was 
yellow. 
The beams will rub your body. 

A bared stasis 
will stop the fluids. 
Wash your face with tears. 

It seems a long time 
when I touched your eyes. 
My clouds would not find you.

Satish Verma

MESSAGE

And that did it. 
Many voices in a mayhem 
lost the face of lightening. 

The starlight woke in rain 
untainted by dust of beds 
encased in wilful folds. 

The tremors will not stop 
the knocking of speech, after 
an intimate kiss of the void. 

Talking of lonely peaks, 
whom I will not touch them in morning. 
Let the night take its revenge.

Satish Verma

WINDOWS

Sky wept 
when you hanged the young truth 
from a tree. 

A shadow falls 
on the hill 
for a savior. 

A winged flaw 
becomes a legend 
for the sake of a sword. 

A nameless letter 
betrays the will of a cage 
to set the bird free. 

My forehead marks 
the wrinkles of ancestors 
who would not give a name.

Satish Verma

IN ALONENESS

It was a thorn in flesh 
before our fires met in midstream, 
the waterplant had become untouchable. 

I saw you lying 
behind a thin veil, 
like a prophet, in timeless agony. 


The moon had left a wreath 
for a failed worrior, 
who could not move into the tunnel. 

Entering the childhood again 
to reap the sorrow 
of a dry fountain. 

Ah, in the eternal withdrawl 
I come face to face 
with my dying earth.

Satish Verma

SCARS OF LIFE

Want to shed the knowledge 
far from the strings 
and becoming myself again. 

Can you catch the time 
slipped from your hands 
when you were chasing the tiger? 

Phrases were still burning 
like white phosphorus 
on my forehead. 


Where do I take 
the burden of centuries wasted 
in unnatural drums? 

It was inside you, the violence 
of world, yet you want to survive 
without scars.

Satish Verma