Washed-Out

Slashing the surged monarchy 
of celibates 
stoking the fire of wounds, 

the turret locks on to a target 
taking off the gloves. 
The mountain was rising. 

A sheet of the floating ice 
disturbs the ecology 
of heart. I place my candle in storm. 

The missils had failed. 
Only the words were flying from 
bare lips for entreaties. 

Oversexed like a shoe-flower 
O, mad enemy 
I am pouring out the red sea.

Satish Verma

STOKING

Just a sip on verge, 
man was eating a mountain, 
forgetting carnations. 

A peacock sits on the belly 
of a torchbearer 
for a credible crime. 

One Buddha fails today. 
Turns around 
and goes back to his princess. 

Give me blood money 
to kill myself 
for sitting under a bo tree. 

I do not seek any bliss, do not need any home. 
The stoker will not stop hurling the insults.

Satish Verma

Cannot Say

On a hollow path 
you had failed 
carrying the loaves of bread 
in biting cold of politics 
scaring the lips. 

I was standing near 
the dawn in praise of dark. 
The sharks were coming. 

Here goes the marble floor 
for drowning in black blood. 
The fire between the palaces 
was eating the golden thighs. 

I think flowers have gone 
to drink from the little ponds 
near the escaped souls 
of scribes and guns.

Satish Verma

TWIST MY HEART AGAIN

Reached, 
not yet pubescence: 
a cloud says, moon was 
crazy, treading on a 
forbidden lake of frozen tears. 

Breaking fast unto death 
for releasing the doves 
in sky of hymns. 

The gametes were weary. 
Procreation will wait. 
Let the dark particles 
start a ceremony of scoops 
to carry the impatient twister 
inside me, 

to pull off the yokes and 
set the flames free.

Satish Verma

SUCKING BLATANTLY

This was the pain through the window 
in humility. 
Cannot catch a break in rambling 
rose, 
carrying the dead crown of 
a tryant. 

The blindness makes 
a presence. 
People are bidding farewell 
to the bloody son. 

I want to come in death 
now, after thousand years, 
living in violence 
of man. 

The untouchable moon 
was laughing.

Satish Verma

Ungoing

Incredible moon 
tips the hallucinating tree. 
Lake propels the waves to limbs 
and strips to bank. 

I wear my lightning 
and enter into a process 
outside body. The night 
betrays and goes back to sun. 

There is a frame of truth to be claimed 
in a black sac, who slashed 
his neck for the deity 
of widening freedom. 

Turn right, where the trembling 
nation stands to pick up the fallen heroes. 
I am going to write an epitaph 
with my blood on the wind chimes.

Satish Verma

NEED NOT SUFFER

The tears were walking along with 
laughter. My face was roasted. 
The fish-men were moving 
the political wheels. 

As the chaos was widening, 
the humming birds started to depart. 
And the seeds were catching fire 
from anonymous snipers. 

The candle march at night 
gleamed the question marks. 
The dirt, the smudges, the motifs 
and viscera, all were becoming one. 

And the grass stinks with the 
fallen monarchy, after dismantling 
the author of funerals. Give me 
a final kiss of death for baring life.

Satish Verma