Satish Verma, 26 december 2019
The suffering
was suffering.
You pay for it.
There was no point
in returning, to fumble.
Sodium or Potassium
fluoride will make it lethal.
New crack's open the
mind, like a walnut.
God's creation―
lies in halves.
Take it, or reject it,
the maze of words―
describing the brutality
of life's half-truths.
Satish Verma, 25 december 2019
Skinned alive, as
an aftermath of speaking
against the unhinged
blue gods.
Like cacti: growing
straight towards the sky
exploring the questions,
you open a can of paint.
The secret spills. In
happenings, you will find
some poems, written
for tribes of flowers.
The colors sings at the
feast of tearfalls.
Satish Verma, 24 december 2019
Penultimately,
I pick up my choice
of not accepting my defeat.
The grades were falling.
Yet my limbs move
on fine grains of salt.
I will write, blue names
with chalk
on the blackboard of―
a teacherless life.
The disasters had helped me
to redefine the attachments.
The jail-break was
imminent Moon was coming
out from the nemesias.
Satish Verma, 23 december 2019
Under your baton,
The targets are being
identified. Moon will
find out the hiding
of muse.
A purple rhythm
will not be stymied
in bud. Hold the
ground. Sun was setting
very soon.
I have not heard the
boots of departure
as yet. The music
will go on till the
last breath.
A very positive black.
With closed eyes, you
sit in meditation―
until the flames arrive.
Satish Verma, 22 december 2019
A veiled threat,
a muffled cry. It was not human.
No beast, no monster
yet unhuman.
The feel of wolf's
lair, was there in dark.
Anything would happen.
You wanted to become
a self-proclaimed divine Being.
Yet, you were not a god.
A black pit opens. Do not shout.
The clogged artery had bursted.
I give you back your city
you can scale the high wall
and jump into eternity.
Satish Verma, 21 december 2019
In shreds,
the day has passed.
At night, I will touch;
the unasked questions.
You were sending, the
soap bubbles, like
swans carrying the messages.
The weather changes. A
fantasy becomes real.
The moon has missed the night.
Like the Morse code, there was
a flurry of taps, the
blank paper flies for a rite.
It is dawn, breasted and melting.
Satish Verma, 20 december 2019
A futile attempt to go
for a collection spree.
You got only the numbers.
It had to happen. The drums were beating.
The minority suffers
in the hands of many gods.
Between the black
and white, will it be last battle?
Temples were asked to
give the details of divine―
winds and the red moons.
There was a spiritual conflict,
without giving any purpose.
You cannot dissect
my poems.
Satish Verma, 19 december 2019
Encrypting the cause―
of death. Why do you
truss up the statement?
Tell me, whom you were
punishing, accepting
the legitimacy of lies?
Anything would happen
to the author,
who was writing a diary
on the fallen saint.
The palace fumes. There
was an extraordinary delay
in execution of
fire spoons.
Satish Verma, 18 december 2019
Hard and brittle,
the cost of sealing the lips
was increasing overnight.
Cleaving the thoughts―
you would not tell,
what do you believe.
I watch in horror. A
planned trajectory has
failed, shielding the tears.
A furore rises. Half―
humans were fighting
with stones.
It will talk, one day
the agony of deathmask,
you did not want to wear.
Satish Verma, 17 december 2019
A shut door
without a house
would not open, would not open.
An unsealed house
without a door
will not invite.
The irony of knocks overcomes the visitor.
And why would,
you walk in the
doorway without reaching
anywhere.
A divided world
moves towards a diminished―
family.
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