Satish Verma, 3 april 2019
Without audible conflict
I invoke your face
from withered names.
It was always a big NO,
when I would seek comfort
in high sounding verdicts.
An unspoken, painful,
agony to script for an
unwritten foe.
The muscle will twitch
involuntarily, to taste
one’s own ink.
In the waning moon
I will come at your door
to ask for a poem.
Satish Verma, 2 april 2019
Hacked to death.
All I scribbled on―
your breast.
I was on the verge of
a confession. I loved
you like never before.
A full moon, like a
toddler was hopping
towards me.
Never reached the
perfection. Do not have
any wants.
Getting the burns
from the cushions.
I will call you later.
Satish Verma, 31 march 2019
The blue stare
will stretch on the horizon.
A princely moon
enters the perforate shell―
in the oviform eye,
of the bruised lake.
I was ready to drink
the potion, the viper offers.
Tears and laughter, the
twin ecstasy of dying
by hinged fangs.
Satish Verma, 30 march 2019
A green hunt of words
does not dare to insert
the isthmus as indelible
mark between a future
and an unknown.
The fear becomes me. An
odius entry. Will you
help me to find the variations
in the storms of life deviating
from their narmal orbits?
I cannot separate you
my song, from the meaning
of the script. The indefinite thing
has the text of echos
coming from the stars.
The baby moon is climbing
up, to remind me: night
will not stay for long.
Satish Verma, 29 march 2019
Were you the face of God
in the temple of tooth.
When fire was playing The Return
of the Desert.
I feel cheated, when talking
of nonviolence, when you go for
self-immolation in the
water of straits.
The military boots had failed,
to quench the thirst of dead.
How would you dig the graves
of mauled, tribal gods?
The final mile of human race
comes in the face of triumph
of the death, sharing
the borders of flowing blood.
Satish Verma, 28 march 2019
Different hues were lit up.
A water drop falls on my lips.
I will ask the words
to traverse the circle of clouds
for cascading moon.
let the mob―
climb the mount of greed.
I am here on the earth,
to meet the flames
of thoughts and shades
of wounds.
There is hope and the
chains. I will receive
them in ecstasy.
Satish Verma, 27 march 2019
Moon dust was sprinkled
once more on mangroves
to extend the war
across the border.
This was an intricate rite
after the sad error, of
changing the itinerary
to pathless liberation.
The violence has spilled
over in the city of roses.
There was no water left
in the turbid estuary.
The herd was coming
to cross the sands of time.
Satish Verma, 25 march 2019
Nomadic words
do not stay with me
for long, after the betting.
The gamble was
pivotal, to find the
peace in jungle.
The alacrity to
remove the claudication,
when the heart stopped.
Objectively, a truth
will be dissected
to take out the lie.
Immoral was the
podium, which allowed
you, to stand for a sermon.
Satish Verma, 24 march 2019
Eyes half-shut, you are seeing,
unseeing to house the failing light.
When the tornado writhes down, will
you come to clean the rubble?
And splash the bird, the sky in purple?
I am afraid of myself
to explore the craft of non-living.
When the silence descends, I will
know myself, like the bone of Buddha.
The words will not give
any relief, whipped into terror.
Satish Verma, 23 march 2019
The knot was broken
from the waist,
as if we were struck
by a bolt.
Thinking must stop.
Violence was there within
the pods, to explode and
eject the seeds.
The silent rape of a
sleeping book. You cannot
tear off the pages,
limb by limb.
You will not read the
past. Would not write
the future. The present roars
through the window starting a brush fire.
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