Satish Verma, 8 march 2020
Night comes like a
black dog
around the corner.
I start paying off the debt
cry for cry, with a
ceremonial sword,
cutting off the shadows
falling from the
distant hills.
My questions are burning―
on pyre. How did I fail myself?
Why some mercy
was unacceptable to me?
Standing in midstream
I let go your hand,
and drown in quick sand of thoughts.
Now a poem will
lift me from the ruins.
Satish Verma, 7 march 2020
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, 6 march 2020
I will gather you―
through the uproar,
when moon picks up the sneaky path,
from dizzying heights
of hunger.
The poverty of words
hides the bread, ..
You cannot eat an emblem.
The calibration has failed.
Milk contains the
contaminated water.
Everyone has one's own
book, where you write your name
and bear malice for everybody.
Satish Verma, 5 march 2020
To become or not to become a renegade,
or to die or not to die for a semi-god?
These were some of the questions
thrown at an incomplete script.
What elevated you to a celebrity?
Your hump or deep wrinkled groans?
Age is abating, abattoir is empty.
Exile from the past is over.
When you intend to comeback to childhood
and become a simple star?
Behind the mask lies the embrace of death
I am afraid the flames will engulf,
the genius of pathways.
Everything will turn into obsolete gossip.
A patch of sunlight becomes a costly exposure
bones are entwined in eternal cuddle.
Satish Verma, 4 march 2020
A soft, but me,
black moon
coming in bazaar.
Will you sell me the dreams?
Talking to grave silence
before the rains.
I will not plant
marijuana in your eyes.
O, ignorant prince,
my mother had left a legacy.
One should not sleep alone
to become poor.
I expect no applaud,
no cheers. I am a passer-bye
I have not killed
myself.
Satish Verma, 3 march 2020
You drape me, with wet kisses
O moon.
I will not forget you
in freezing rain.
At dangerous arch,
blue-veined―
milk in milk has made me red.
The ecstasy digs out
the hidden lyric,
I would never sing.
Will you find any
questions, to defeat the―
intimacy of a rape?
A hurt here, a bruise
there, my faded shirt
covers the poems.
Satish Verma, 2 march 2020
To you, I
send my silence,
before the fire starts, to engulf
the open barn.
This mourning must stop.
I will wash your feet, of mud
and wet grass. You have
come after crossing the jungle of black roses.
Tomorrow I will call swallows.
A peacock will replace the
ruined, plundered, silk poppies.
The bleeding sky turns blue.
On the road, echoes
of greedy words will eat the smiles.
Satish Verma, 1 march 2020
Burning the pages
unread.
A daunting task
to rebuild the bruised relic,
of future, which I see
in my dream. This was―
the desire, till
the last flame dies out.
I am not sure of
myself. I will chase
a spider, climbing the
wall. I want to know where
it was heading, carrying
a headless fly, to bury
a spotless name in the
web of mortal threads.
Satish Verma, 29 february 2020
What happened? I would
ask the realness
of genocidal face.
The blue cock
was numb in the laser thin
commentary.
The face was mirror. You
can apply a salve by implanting a womb
in the barren dream.
Beheading a thought
was not sufficient to kill the theme.
It will come back with revenge.
OCD. I come back again and again to
look at the portrait
of a failed god.
Satish Verma, 28 february 2020
Amnesia.
I want to drink tonight,
purple hellebore.
Like to protest―
the display of private things.
The humming.
The alphabet of
betrayal. Who wants
the award?
Amnesia.
I dream of dying,
feeding the doves.
Was it too early
to start getting dressed up
without a show?
Amnesia.
The hyphens don't
connect now the broken strings.
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