BENEVOLENCE

Need mercy for a
Freudian slip.
I was sitting on a window.

The light went out
from the eyes of the masterpiece.
Only stones were left.

Give me the figurine.
I wanted to cut open the navel
and find out the blue god.

Will you pull the chariot
of moon? The black horses
will not send the blessings.

The dawn was still hiding
in a bunker. First you feed
a child and then kill the rising sun.

Satish Verma

THE ASSAULTER

You were aging by nights.
Days will not seek
to defend you.

Drawing the landscape
of a snowfall,
you will die in a portrait.

The world meets
you again like a jawless
lamprey with sucker mouth.

Beyond the blues
lies a tower, where
you will not find the stairs.

In battlefield, stands
the army of red ants, ready
to pound upon the moonlight.

Satish Verma

The Drowning

The ancient war is on.
You kill,
or get killed.

Do not jostle.
You were sinking in quicksand
taking on the depth.

In exile, you
wanted the remains of
a brilliant moon, after it was possessed.

The poet will find
the jungle, standing quietly
after the execution, was stayed.

Between the witness
and accused, the judge will not
reverse, the slant of the truth.

Satish Verma

SEMINAL

An early bloomer:
you jumped on the otherside,
of Milky Way, at night.

Hearing the voices,
from inside,
becoming a Buddha.

The semen, without light―
sprouts, into a mad tree.
Not normal.

Starts walking at acute
angle, randomly,
for a cosmic, rare encounter.

A severed hand
writes the destiny of man
who went wild.

Satish Verma

MYTH OF SUICIDE

Be laid:
with your private wounds
beside me.
For otherness.

Can you come out from―
your flesh, and watch
the ribs, becoming
infrasonic?

The desiccated dreams,
inhaling the fire,
drinking pain. You have
come full circle.

Can you describe the
journey of dead souls?
Without tears? Are you
going to reject the end?

The ruins are always a beauty.

Satish Verma

Walking In The Woods

Like war of words.
A fierce battle of winds
erupted between
mountain and woods.

There was no
rain, after the clouds
gathered. It was time
to say goodbye―

to moon. The sky
was playing host
to fireballs and coming
meteorites like man's fall.

Satish Verma

Cutting Edge

The rocks in water
like words, between
the tears.
Quasi-pain, reverberating
like a river.

It flows―
intermittently. The lava
of an active volcano.
You want to cover
the smashed skull.

The mirror
breaks, under the shock.
It had never happened before.
A nude streaking
on the screen.

The moon had nothing
to offer. Over and spent.
It moves on its axis
ungoverning―
the stars.

Satish Verma