Satish Verma, 30 july 2021
Where sand becomes
silver, you cower
under a palm.
A birch tree
beacons you to write
the fall of man.
All day you wait
for a miracle.
It never happens.
This autum, I will
worship a naked tree.
A toast for dying moon.
Satish Verma, 26 july 2021
Talking off the runway
moon― being you, a
gut feeling takes over.
You will not stay overnight.
Not cool enough, I was
learning in your calm, becoming
lynx-eyed shooter―
from panther.
Juggling the phrases,
the meltdown begins. A
bridge collapses. Stampede.
Mass panic. The train will
not come today.
Let's go and walk in a
sunflower field. Do you― love
Van Gogh? His studies?
‘A Starry Night ‘ and his interpretation
of self-violence.
Rest of life. I am going
to walk with a hurt.
Satish Verma, 25 july 2021
What if the sword
leaves and purple eyes
of Iris become apocalyptic?
It would be for me― the arrow,
leaving from the arched
bows of goddess of rainbow.
Wearing a tiara, of
golden lotuses, in eerie morning
the sun was rising.
Dawn commits a
genuine sin. Wakes me up
to dig the past for bones of faithless truth.
The silent ocean has
a job to do. Turn me blue in
iced mercy without any smile.
Baked and browned, the
priest, marries a virgin to a ghost.
Satish Verma, 24 july 2021
Nothing other than,
he was hearing―
screams!
Nude was not au
naturel, like
a new born chick.
Half-mumbling,
half-clad,
he walked bare foot.
Giving away the
canvas, you are
blissfully happy.
Satish Verma, 23 july 2021
Tends to droop,
the narcissus, after
shedding the tears.
Per minute, you
were drawing
a self-portrait.
In water,
your image splinters
in thousand names.
Holding the―
earth on your neck
where would you go?
Satish Verma, 22 july 2021
Let go the nightmares
and oneness,
and climb down the deep―
stairwell to find your image,
in seething rage of quiet water.
It was not very hot
to raise the fever of native pain
in your legs. The delicate
heights of golden peaks you
won, slumber― when you discover yourself.
Poem matters in black ink,
on white paper which bloats
in self praise. The world
trembles in earthquakes of sermons.
Fauna and flora are turning back.
Enough to snuf the guts.
You don't love the parting.
Satish Verma, 21 july 2021
Light of dawn.
Day begins with
blue memories.
I sweep―
the floor, of mind.
The palm stands witness.
Nightingale,
does not believe in
nihilism.
Don't get mad
at dragonfly.
It cannot stand still.
Satish Verma, 20 july 2021
I resent.
Will remain that
I am.
No fissures. Frozen
mind. I am not thinking.
Peeling off the day
layer by layer. Fear
refuses to cross the street.
Not becoming.
Not carrying any weight.
The journey collects only―
the names.
No peaks. Restraint
I say to dark. Light
was waiting.
Satish Verma, 18 july 2021
Paying back the debt
of virility. A lame duck
hobbles on the moon.
As far as, you can,
travel on my body, to―
catch the boat.
River was on spate,
sinking the groves,
bushes and fireflies.
Don't walk on
the clouds. You will fall
violently, when it rains at night.
The globes rotate
the world. You come back
to the poles, from where
you started.
Satish Verma, 17 july 2021
Like a vampire,
night swoops down.
Temple bells ring.
I am happy―
not to invoke any god.
Crickets share my muse.
The tall minarets,
stand erect in dark.
Muezzin gives a call.
My friends long
dead, would come and
talk ceaselessly.
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