VIGILANCE

The sellout of an identity
was complete.
You were standing on your
blood.

Scarce was the remorse
in your eyes,
after killing your
verse.

Bipedal activity has been
ruined.
And you were crawling
on all fours.

You are glorifying the
sex,
forgetting the brides of
jungle.

Can you walk upright,
stay clean
and stop eating the dialogues?

Satish Verma

Jungle Jungle

For ethnicity
draped in gasoline
you burn the sky.

Who was fighting a
jungle abandoning
every thought?

Step aside,
mirror, Oh mirror,
I am going up in heap of flames.

This self-annihilation.
Will it take you to
promised heaven of deaf gods?

The dust, the heat, the soot.
They are going to blacken your
entrals. How will you come out in moon?

Satish Verma

NEW RELIGION

When light will not
enter the cove,
water breaks in.

He jumped to death
with his book in his hands.
The silence starts speaking.

What was this brand
of homegrown belief?
Truth has been punished.

How big was the murder?
Realization comes very late.
The path to violence-

was through god. The
somatic victory gets
a gruesome reward.

Satish Verma

Repercussions

You had set your sights
on the pond, accepting defeat:
wanted to know the depth of water,
fracturing sky.

The mangroves porous roots
jutting out of muddy water
exploring the memory
of reclining tree.

Always remained sick
of politics- the massive
hunt of fake solutions.

The return of theboat with
tiger. Are you ready to
take a plunge in nakedness?

Behind the curtain was
sitting the invisible wheel
which will find the vulnerability
of a lonely path.

Satish Verma

Speechless

The war game begins.
You hide the sex behind
the hedge. The power

has gone for sale. Bury
your face in colloquies
for an internal search.

A native pain invades the
mannequins. The fine dust
of lies covers the nudity.

Do you need a war stimulant
to dehumanize the killer? He
dragged the kid by hair and

shot point-blank. The saliva
uncoils. You start spitting
everywhere and on the face of god.

Satish Verma

WET SAND

In the dim corridors
of a dirty game,
when the crime was rising
you were pursuing the self-ism
at the end of the smoke.

Was it not a wailing song
of a dahlia, blooming in sun;
when the life demanded
only a seed, an old coin
and an empty frame?



The fake encounters and torn
shirts of a bleeding tribe
will ask many unpleasant
questions from the forest.
Why the bees had stopped collecting honey?

Satish Verma

Ghostly

An alien feeling 

of weird dreams
whirling in eddies
of thoughts.

Vertigo.
I snapped at moon,
bursting on to pow wow
at phallic rocks.

The God was kind enough
blessed the knife
which fell in lake
without noise.

Satish Verma