LIPS ON FIRE

Sometimes the ice burns, 
a fish moves in your eyes. 

The ubiquity was at lowest level, 
nothing was visible in sun. 

Mission crawl in the crotch 
does not find any fever. 

The golden cave has caved in. 
Moon will find another sky. 

Nerves were green, pain was 
black. No mercy for hooks. 

Your map was here and my stitches. 
Let us see, who tells the lie.

Satish Verma

WITHOUT REASON

Living in a cyst, it 
would explore the breast. 
The black ethics goes beyond 
the bounds of mystique of 
non-movement. 

A while away 
a conflict comes out of the body. 
Melts into a face. 
There is no flesh, no skin. 
Only transgression, holding my hands. 

There were no arguments. 
Only speech punctuated by silent sobs. 
A taper standing in a gale. 
The shadow flies like an arrow into 
the pitcher of hemlock.

Satish Verma

Undoing

A tumbler climbs a rain 
in all crimelessness. 
Perhaps you will never know 
my invaginating self. The thirst has 
become a river. 

A pile of books and I cannot read. 
The shadow lengthens on the wall. 
An eagle melts in the air. 
They are shifting him for amputation. 
Truth cannot walk. 

I become my father tonight 
and watch the house burning. 
I am told there was lot of bleeding before. 
There will be no need to rescuscitate. 
The dead man says, why not?

Satish Verma

HUMILITY

While drinking the long night 
you became taller than the eternal 
question, bitten by the moon. 

Witchhunting will not stop 
in oligarchy. A human right 
stands on the ivory gate to enter the dust. 

The weightlessness is paraded 
nude amongst the full-lipped 
follies of ornamental speech. 

The duende was lacking in palace. 
Rivals held the moonlight. 
Now the muse will become celibate. 

A giant mantis hops on a podium 
to bless the dying god, and the candle 
burns whole night.

Satish Verma

WEAVING SILENCE

Do I have a choice 
before knifing the page 
for a meaning, when I was 
drowned in a nostalgia? 

Cinchona bark. This was my 
keyword for living bitterly 
under a tryant inciting 
the riots of colors. 

The digital death comes as 
a reward for insane truth. 
You turn the back on home 
and walk towards the sea – 

to count the empty shells on beach. 
Here life completes a cycle 
from emptiness to emptiness. 
You are ready to go in void. 




*On the death of Steve Jobs.

Satish Verma

KINDLED NIGHT

Put off the lantern. 
I am waiting for the moon’s 
primal face. The lesser flamingoes 
were going to shed the pink color. 

Nude as a python, the kiss 
of pomegranates, kills by asphyxiation. 
I suffer in the hands of protests. 
The black ice now enters the eye of a needle. 

A barefoot noun feeds the junta. 
The butter babies will serve the poetry 
of poor on the mats of principles. 
I will remain unslept on straw. 

A newspaper eats the story this side. 
After the bloodbath surgeons weep. 
An armless lover hugs a priest 
for not calling the gods.

Satish Verma

INADEQUACY

A silence speaks up at ungreen 
age for an unknown, finding 
dark matter in hiddenness 
of sleazy light. 

A dove in the valley of tulips 
stops a flight for a wayfarer. 

What was that persisists, in envioronment and bunkers? 

Queen bee will decide for a spliced 
dawn of honeycomb in a bloodless coup. 

The stings were the torchbearers. 

A smile comes out with a walker. The 
vitals were dysfunctioning. 
The end does not need any comma.

Satish Verma