Satish Verma, 23 december 2016
In your domain
walking with men of straw
to immolate myself.
If power was sacred
why you did not stop
the reversing of gender role?
Oh, there was water on Mars
streaking like the tears
on your face.
The apes were coming.
There was elation and suspicion.
The vortex of existence needs surgery.
Unlikeness calls for
introspection. I am asking
god to pray for me.
Satish Verma, 22 december 2016
By the moon
I drink you again.
The night is trembling;
ruffles the colossal tears.
The terrible ache of the
illegitimate mercy. I am
not accepting any poem
half-dead under my pen.
The invisible force, bribing
the tears was a grace
uncalled for. I am going to forget
the date of my cessation.
It was a false peace of the womb.
There was no banality
in sending the message.
Death has no other name.
Satish Verma, 21 december 2016
In asci we stand like
spores in a floating pain
in trepidation of something
evil.
It was a lily pond.
The water brings a dead city
on lotus leaves. I will
become crazy for small deviations.
The body bags are full of
remains. You know everything
before hand, from alphabet
to full script.
In my own way I will
decipher the stream of
death’s language. A part
of your face floats nearby.
The uncollected legs were
searching the flame of sorrow
without digging a hole.
Satish Verma, 20 december 2016
When I was arranging daffodils
you send in tanks.
The sky was overcast.
When I was talking to clouds
Fireballs are delivered.
That signals the specific gravity
is shifting to knobs.
The artist was going
to disappear.
I think of faithfulls.
How beautifully they talk of
two moons.
I had decided to quit
when you send in a hymn.
Satish Verma, 18 december 2016
Leave something for me to imagine.
A skeleton in a pond
leaps to the moon.
In an air bubble
lies the history of a suspended
name, wasted away on water.
A war is declared on the
family of words, not spoken
to anguish of man.
I thought of my sun
averting a disaster. The sprouts
will not come out of the earth.
An enquiry into the nature of
immanence, leads to starvation.
The body of truth turns into a snake.
The revolution within, shows
a false victory. You start again
from the ugly fingers.
Satish Verma, 17 december 2016
The secular love:
you are contaminated
between skin and prayer.
Back from the odyssey
finding a crop-circle
in bridal chamber.
Rival was an alien
with a flat stomach
thinking black.
The thieving sperms
had a glorious end,
unentered in grass.
Your body was churning out
a religion.
I will find out my own god.
Satish Verma, 16 december 2016
Like a butterfly pinned
in a collage, fluttering.
Death makes a deal.
I was appalled
standing on the edge
watching the withering body.
The lake drowns me.
Seagulls were waiting
for a renaissance.
It is not even midsummer.
The planting of the kiss
remains incomplete.
No sex was involved
in baring midriff.
Moon ignites the legs.
Satish Verma, 15 december 2016
Nothing was beholden.
Colony counts were perfect.
You were never guaranteed and exit.
I am stalked by lips
of a black tulip holding
a moonbeam.
The world moves
wearing a shell of emptiness
in a cosmos, inviolable.
Aggrandizement
beyond the bluffing.
More beliefs and many withdrawls.
You will not kill me?
Half-way to soothing words
of ecstasy.
Satish Verma, 14 december 2016
Let us talk about ligation.
I don’t want to push the –
searing boundaries trumpeting
the sexual orientation.
The butterflies and bees
are disappearing. A petri dish,
a test tube and artificial
thrust through the red lights.
An unbroken promise
lies in shambles.
Availing something less,
had been beyond the topic
of returning back to home.
The desert blooms again
with indignant cacti.
Satish Verma, 12 december 2016
A monster from a tree
jumps and runs around the bushes
to mate.
A blank statement
is issued. The system groans
and collective pshyche fails.
A stark silence
for the food for thoughts.
I sit down to meditate-
to find the bloody answer
for white death. The dirty
work to sweep the floor.
It smells like an
amputated leg.
Do we need to draw a circle around the bomb?
With a lie on your lips,
are you going to negotiate
with violence?
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