Satish Verma, 21 july 2022
For feeding a false tree
of life, beheading
a god was becoming a passion.
Snubbing the checks
and bruises, you
love to be alone in a mad crowd.
As if to be ready
for disintegration, you walk
in pain. Astounded
earth starts shaking.
In unwholeness, the
lamps become dark. The bones
were visible without light.
You want to run
with a comet, away from sun
in coldness of frozen smiles.
Don't drag my shadow.
I am fixed like a legacy.
Satish Verma, 20 july 2022
Under deadly nightshade
we met for the first time,
to watch each other's brilliance―
and rip away.
The scars had become our
moons. We sailed through―
the ocean of grief.
When we gather in dark
there was no choice―
between I am, and you are.
You were afraid to confront―
not accepting what your skin feels
and mind rejects.
The soul searching begins
to become non-conformist,
in green night―
beautiful night.
Satish Verma, 19 july 2022
It was restless mind
and I ask you something.
The grammar.
When something big―
happens, I find an excuse
to say small things.
O invisible!
how do I resolve the puzzles
of life. It had become a big
traumatic event.
The rain―
of inflected words
backed up by silence, keeps
me running―
to find the import.
Tell me―
how do I remember you.
Satish Verma, 18 july 2022
Washed-up your
facial nuance, like jellyfish
at abandoned shore.
I was collecting shells
today, to write a poem for
your brown irises.
Pink chrysanthemums
will not say anything, but were dying
when you were away..
In rains you take a
figure, like a blue black bird
ready to fly away.
Satish Verma, 17 july 2022
You were not a god―
in panic, seeking an asylum
with two little hands
holding a golden book.
There was a potential
threat of complete annihilation
from the foul writing on the walls
with spurious titles.
A political blitzkrieg
takes place in glass dome,
drawing out bad blood,
from healthy limbs.
Where would you go, now
in dark? Fleeing from the violence
of men, being migrant without
a temple at the end of the earth.
Satish Verma, 16 july 2022
A rose on your name shines,
like a mural painting.
You had wanted
a deathless dying.
Does it happen to everyone?
Living on water,
still abrasive?
When you walked on the nails,
was it corrosive, like
acid on face?
I am visiting the death room
to start a vigil, like
a hummingbird gone mute.
And the lovebirds will show
no more the open affections.
The moon will heal the poem.
Hearth will keep on throwing
the crackling blaze.
Satish Verma, 15 july 2022
In your painting the
silence of death was very loud.
I will call a poem.
Hold it down, your horse
power. Floodgates will open to
let out ugly ducklings.
In moonlight― I may
sit on the sand dune to listen,
the silent, inner voice.
Lines on your forehead
are getting deeper. May I
call the nightingale?
Satish Verma, 13 july 2022
Belong to yourself in―
green flames and wait for
the hibiscus of September.
Meanwhile you will
break the silence of deathless
moon. I will watch the dark
night till then.
The yes woman walks
on water. I stay on the shore
to see the bones drown.
It was great worthy of the
digitalis. Fingers of gloves
will measure the beats of heart.
Attending the funeral was
waste. You will rise again
from ashes to beat revenge.
Satish Verma, 12 july 2022
After euthanasia,
I was conversing with a ghost.
Foam-born, he
wanted to shrink in a ring.
To cause harm―
a knife, apologizes,
for playing with fire.
That is the life,
of a mortal― to keep his
god, as a prisoner
of books.
And yet, you are called
a great warrior of words.
In your prime flight,
when the sun is setting,
you want to drop dead
like a sparrow, on eternal greenness
of silence.
The horses run in full alacrity.
Satish Verma, 10 july 2022
You evoke the desire.
I break like bougainvillea leaves.
Wind sweeps the floor.
After tarantula bite,
I pick a peony― ambling
aimlessly in rains.
Until the seagull
lands, I will stay on the beach
waiting for sunset.
Waves scramble before
the moon rises. I will hold
the flowers in palms.
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