Swift Descent

In cascading
tresses, when moon
got stuck.

I held your face
to see the frightened
fish in eyes.

Seven feet deep,
the snow-
escapes the man's foot.

A terrible fight
still goes on
between temple and mosque.

Satish Verma

Inertia

The night had dumped
the moon on the hill.
I was going to drop your name in rose bushes.

Sleeping alone was a torture, when
anxiety shows its fangs
in drooping lids.

Mysterious calls come,
from nowhere, when you were standing
on the sharp edge. A crisp decision
had to be made.

You become gold, without crying
and expose yourself
in dim light― where day and night meet.

Who will talk
about the final descent,
when you will deceive yourself?

A soap bubble was
shooting skyward.

Satish Verma

How Blue Was My Country

The godman also had
an underbelly.
He lost his vision,
came full circle.

Now paper lamps
float in rows
on tear effect.

An underdog―
becomes a horseman,
follows the royal buggy
with a naked king.

The verdict was
very simple.
It was a nightmare.

Satish Verma

In Celebration

The giant pain was nameless.
Held captive in
tearless screaming.

I have come back in
my deserted home.

The sitting peace was unstable.

Never I will say,
I do, going outside the
accepted boundaries.

No honour killing.

Misfit for the slot, you were
making your own sky, where
you seek liberation
from twilight zones.

Satish Verma

The Naked Book

Come and sleep with me,
I said to moon. We have to
talk about earth's fidelity.

Don't become a neo-rich.
I was afraid to
lose you in my songs.

A poet will always
remain contrarian. An enigma
covers the smile of a rose.

Then a tactical withdrawal
from the stars crowd. You had
wanted only the full moon.

A blood spill will
never tell you, why the blackbuck
was shot in broad daylight.

You freeze, will not move.
The gift of your bust lies in dust.

Satish Verma

Collapsing Lights

There was no ending
of questions.
I grope, I miss.

Memory plays
tricks. I have come
afar in shrinking heights.

A face jumps
in mirror.
Cannot recognize me.

Aging eyes.
Moon. Fallen leaves,
wrinkled yellow, harsh winter.

Satish Verma

Stray Moments

Even a lizard―
stops and looks
at you intently.

How the things
have gone―
wrong without asking?

You bend like
a bow to read
illegible truth.

Scissors ponder,
what was the need
to cut the rose?

Satish Verma