Satish Verma, 9 june 2019
After the blast, the
morning gets wise, and
does not spill the sun.
And the dead will not
come back to celebrate
the dark after the rage.
There, on the white peaks,
the splattered blood will
draw the face of assassin.
Do not enter the dome of
seething screams. The priest
hangs by the bell.
O, my brother, why we
have become coldblooded after
thousand years of pilgrimage?
Satish Verma, 8 june 2019
In black midnight,
the white moon, like a nun
sits stonely.
The sliding moon is toxic
and you are not ready to
die for the theme.
The high priests will
weave the faux mantras to
invoke the goddess of wealth.
The debt pervades in every
relief. I survive the ignominy
of not touching a yogi.
And you, little brown bread,
will not feed the thousands
who come clamouring for a bite.
Satish Verma, 7 june 2019
It tumbles down. The real.
Heels start hurting.
Once upon a night, there
was a red moon, which used to hang
on your head and I
would watch something beyond.
No outburst of profanity
will take place, when you were
dissecting a triangle―
of rainbows. I will not
assemble the waist of a tall tree
after the fruit fall.
Gone with the snow, my
temple, my god. I am now
waiting for the looters of rings.
Jonathan Davidoff Behavio, 6 june 2019
U can sleep like a baby
I like to see you when you closing your eyes
So quiet you starting dreaming.
I above your breath touching your hairs,
So smooth and soft.
You are so perfect I thing...
When you lie to me again,
When you know I dont dream,
Giving me shit another time and fuck me over.
And I love to hear this silence,
No lies and no hate.
Touching your skin, kissing your chick.
To far to your soul, to close to my faith.
Satish Verma, 6 june 2019
There was a road to landslips.
Why would the mountain break
for consanguinity?
You had spurned the hovering
clouds altering the means
of communication―
by adopting the lightning
for jousting with new gods.
As the thin cobweb flies before the eyes―
I go for insomnia to talk
with invisible in dark. In
moment’s lapse I become grey.
A life’s learning makes a
fool of me, hurting myself
in moonlight. The
abandonment brings fear
of me. I am ready to go
to a sheepeater carnivore and lie still.
Satish Verma, 5 june 2019
How much you were honest
with you?
The poems had singed
the eyebrows. I am filled
with salt.
Would you know what was
missing between the lines?
Afterlife will not bother me.
My image and me
will not superimpose.
An apology for extradition
of my agony. Trapped, my
mirror has broken. I
will tear off the moon
from the window, when the room
is dark.
Satish Verma, 4 june 2019
How much you can carry,
carving a deep gorge
during last rites
of a river?
It was a skunky remain
of the civilized terrain
gone berserk.
Oh pilgrim, don’t come
again to wash your feet
in the snow of
painted storks.
Hiding behind the tattoos
my raw galaxy perspires
climbing the graveyard
of old songs.
Satish Verma, 3 june 2019
This is for the
smaller gods sitting
in rains, seeking asylum in
snow.
Nobody knows the
fate of sunken erotica
when the glacier
melts.
A wild rose
sends the thorns to
prick your conscience.
Let the death walk
in sleep.
Satish Verma, 2 june 2019
A visible evil stands
upright. I did not want to
die before the death.
My needs were small and few
but I am at peace, breaking
water without shaming the earth.
I will now make a moon
out of the mystery of mass cremation
of rose buds.
The small recess of the soul
mends the wall of the flesh to become
a stable house.
The black crypt, maintains
a secret. Here lived a wounded
soldier once upon a time.
Satish Verma, 1 june 2019
Stargazing will not stop.
The will to find the answer,
when the glacier breaks.
You bring the god down
to earth. Don’t want to
bother any door.
A pair of fetters fastened
around my ankles.
I hop to the house of sadness.
The auroral spark
ignites the leaker. Clouds
burst crimson with tears.
A ring of red stones were
markers. Here fell the divine
spirits, climbing on water.
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