In War

O Earth,
today, standing on your bones
I will study my fears.

I am talking to myself
to say everything, which I don't
mean, presiding over the violence.

Bullet-ridden I
will return your sorrow
to sky, hailing the stars.

From grief to grief
I walk pigeon-toed,
to explore the mines of seed thoughts.

In summer, you
offer the naked hands to me
to write the poem of the day.

Satish Verma

Prayer In Message

There were no regrets―
from the life to lose the game.
Tell me, how can I forget
you, when flesh was melting
from the bones?

The poetics. This was not
the world, I had dreamed.
Sinkhole. You are swallowed alive.
The script was changing.
War allows to drop the morality.

Eye shamed. For your sake.
O God, I had loved your creation.
Why it had become dirty?
This was no more my property.
Take away the loaned apples.

It is the split,
the divide. I am walking
barefoot to feel the bygone dead
sacrifices.

Satish Verma

Ceremonial

Coming of age becomes
temporal, when
I start to speak.

It was my ancient wound―
which had come into being,
to bleed.

No mannerism,
idiosyncrasy or culture
was needed to stay dumb.

Time runs in a
narrow tunnel, to cross the enemy lines.
I will unmourn my death.

Like collecting the bluebells.
After the burial of candor,
there was no other ceremony.

Satish Verma

Something To Happen

The ache of taking a
call, when my
book was burning.

I scramble to warn
the bees, not to
come near the sundew.

Words hide the
sticky floor. Walk prudently
to swap the hunger strike

for bread and wine,
as the fingerprints untangle
the mystery of desires.

Satish Verma

Not Left Behind

I will keep on
looking back, when you would
not be there.

Trying to put it behind me, the
Moon-blind dysphoria.

The riddled moments. You
are badly hurt, but
would not say.

Bare-boned, in
the oasis of flesh.

The mankind―
why were you feeling let down
by animalcules?

Into the grave milieu,
you― sleeptalking, without
voice.

Trying to rekindle the
flames from the wet eyes.

Satish Verma

Causing Intense Pain

Clouds had veiled
the waning sun.
A topaz.

A blast,
becomes quite blasé at first
then becomes green.

With envy, the moon
gives no light.
My faith tumbles.

Sometimes I ask myself.
Why did you cover
your sore spots?

As a perfect pretext
of buying peace
why did you go for the lies?

Satish Verma

Warbirds

O Zero man! you come
with a continuous denial,
of thirst of war,
a habit, predation.

When would you cross the blood lines?

The night blooms.
Sucking stars, moon
and chaste boundaries.

Nothing moves in the
stillness of voice, words.
A green light floats.

When there will be peace?

en face, I was ready to
fold the words, the sky.

Satish Verma