Satish Verma, 4 december 2021
A dynamic kill,
when you start crystal―
gazing.
Were you a participant
of an organized
rape of the planet?
Your roots drop,
as you gamble with the
change of coins. It would
become a stillbirth,
of a seaisle.
Telling lies has become
a lucrative job.
Are you going to buy immortality,
in the bazaar of bazookas?
The blast cells were
rising. There was intense
pain in my thighs. Blood
was turning white.
Satish Verma, 3 december 2021
Dancing on the trembling
flames, virtually
remaining calm, I was just
watching your hands― the palms, and
only the stance of pointing fingers.
I mimic the death
in a cage, burned alive―
or beheaded by a black night
under the moon. One digit added
to the depth of an ocean,
which has no shores.
One day, you will forget
me, walk away from the hand-written
beautiful calligraphy, describing the agony
of man, who would not drop
his pen, even, tyranny tearing away
his limbs.
Satish Verma, 2 december 2021
Flesh by flesh
bone by bone.
I am tired of your religion.
The fake rituals―
to anoint the sins.
Meanwhile someone will execute
the pollen heads.
Blackbirds will come
and go in the corridors
of power to get the plums.
After a murderous day
slowly the moon
rises, to wash out the
dark stains of earth.
Satish Verma, 1 december 2021
You started parenting
a blitz,
against my nest.
I am bleeding on my lines.
It is hurting
me a lot.
Like breathing in chlorine.
The mercury rises, falls.
Towards unknown blues,
you took a dive. I cannot
read the signature―
of nemesis.
Would not find a
kindred spirit. I was trying
to follow you in dark.
The story does not end
here. Back to antiquity, did you
believe in a second cousin
of moon, that were you?
Satish Verma, 30 november 2021
Pure kill.
I pull out the shivering
heart in my eyes.
A rising sin. I will
not forget you, never―
your tongue bifida.
And a real―
murder of a blue-green cow
reared for religion.
That sucks. The
numbers, the lies and
the terrible abuses.
The shadows are
lengthening and you were
becoming small.
Satish Verma, 29 november 2021
Night was young.
Shameless moon
wanted to talk to me.
Will do what―
I was not supposed to do,
holding back the tears.
We had killed
ourselves with indelible scars
for a puppet show.
Reddish-yellow
rind of bloody orange in
the eyes of severed head.
Satish Verma, 28 november 2021
It was a quaint
feeling. Something was
going to happen.
I had asked the fading
moon, are you going
to die?
Fear was going to
win, it said. The blues
are approaching.
Do you believe in
probables of phobias?
The killing of big hugs?
No mercy for the
obsession of noisy celebration.
A god was changing the gender.
I forgive the fire,
forget the light and
start embracing the dark for a bang.
Satish Verma, 27 november 2021
The beast
draws a circle for
winter, untelling.
You climb the frozen
falls, to reach the moon
in gray.
The treachery
in domes was evident.
You get the twisted cones.
Under the shade
of stars, you start the
fire to ignite the limbs.
Satish Verma, 26 november 2021
Ah, the statecraft of
present times, was becoming
agender.
The strength of institution
would lie in old oil paintings.
You become stupid
and start living in dark rooms
to understand the sun.
Half-beliefs were―
cooked straight from the
sermons of striped coats.
The delusion was
simple. There was camphora
to revive the fainting glory.
Satish Verma, 24 november 2021
There was no respite
from the repeated assaults.
When did I ask you to move
slitherly with words?
A straight delivery
was needed to refrain after
the collective suicide.
There was a conspiracy theory
that a super moon was
going to drown you
in honey.
Now you come back
to seek pardon and then
start destroying the truths
with impunity.
It was an intrigued
home coming
with braided locks.
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