Satish Verma, 27 march 2017
A repressed scream.
Someone breaks the head.
I was hitting the wall.
The rape hurts.
Withers away the dam.
River was changing the course.
It was very pompous;
the benign torture. No
more I belong to this world.
And the dilapidated
houseboat floats on the lake
to collect the immersed-
bones of ancesters. A
door opens. The poem prints
the pain of centuries.
Satish Verma, 26 march 2017
Do not give credence
to mundanity. An iconic
black night was getting ready
to welcome Venus.
A storm was raging inside,
vandalizing the secrets of the house,
uprooting the doors and windows.
The whole life was at stake.
Shrinking the head of foes,
you start eating the live insects.
But the truth was escaping
from your lips.
My poem drop the seeds,
for the unborn children of violence.
I dedicate a book for the other me,
as I near the crossroads of uncertainty.
Satish Verma, 25 march 2017
Those migratory storks,
will not come
this year.
The lake was burning.
The secret kill
of the wringer
was metastasizing.
Make the tether-
small for the macabre
end. I am not yet
frozen. The stalker
will not leave the
flame. Outside a tribute
was ready for
an uprooted tree.
My shadow moves ahead
to catch a cage bird,
in the parrot green sky.
Satish Verma, 24 march 2017
Trending the nude prints,
life had been dismissive,
plucking the gray hairs from brows.
Manipulating the dopamine
the body’s odour
wafted through the cluttering limbs.
Charcoal underlines the
need of a wounded dove.
What else one needs from grain and water.
The tears will sew the lids
one day. I don’t want
to churn the sea again.
The dogfish comes on the
shores for a rebuttal.
It had never led a dog’s life.
Satish Verma, 23 march 2017
You are not
on my page.
No more in my abstract sleep.
Cease-fire
will not be declared-
in the realm of dark dreams.
There was
one tear at a time.
No battle cry.
Trampling on
the old reminiscences,
a tiger jumps on the author-
of mangrove.
The aerial roots have
stopped breathing.
Your lungs become
a flute. A war song frightens
the death.
Satish Verma, 22 march 2017
I will not understand
the gift of hurting
in unsolicited encounters.
Will chase you around
the world,
without arriving.
O fear, my bread;
cannot feel you, unbirthing.
Life gives me many stitches.
A parallel face mocks
in the sky, unless the moon
cries for the kiss.
Wooden wheels move on
the laid body. Your venomous
tooth I break.
Satish Verma, 21 march 2017
Climbing
on the celestial pole,
did you come
for a lethal kiss?
Floating
in vacuity,
do you find some depth
in the black hole?
The wheels
move on stolen track
of an epic. You come back
to a dead sea-
for a swim. What looked pink
was not a flamingo
with a bent bill
held upside down.
Satish Verma, 20 march 2017
Sudden onset of an insertion
going for a kill in bluish green valley.
Pretend as if you are dead
and start disintegrating.
Your poverty of words disconnects
you from cogitation and you start-
walking in sleep. Cannot reach
the breasts jutting out like pine cones -
dismantling the invasion. You start
manipulating the seeds. Fruits
are nowhere in sight. The risk is
grave crossing the borders of virginity.
Pure aching and one thousand moons.
I have not reached the gates of truth.
Satish Verma, 19 march 2017
These were the children of
wrath, the fire god. What I am
watching was a subtle suicide
pact taking on the style of a civil
war among sparrows.
The transmission was offering a
dark vision of future. The skies
were not answering the prayers. The
old lover wants to come back in small
land to forbid the division of hearts.
No resonance comes after the surgical
strike. You remember the sunset on
the mount of your palm. I said, you
will survive all your enemies. I
distil the eyes for the coarse admission.
After all the poem has a meaning.
Satish Verma, 18 march 2017
There was no colour in the nude
and skin deep fire was raging
not leaving much of a trail.
A Janus cat,
that is our man of polity
with two faces.
Walking alone at midnight,
that is larger than life, on
death of a galaxy, where -
the crack of dawn meets
dandelion to decide the course
of bloody day. They were -
coming in huge lots to kneel
and kiss the hands of their master,
who will leave his signature -
in deep cleavage. Who was
guarding the doorway to
my sleep?
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