Satish Verma, 14 february 2019
Coming over here
to find me, in abstract meaning?
I was very much there in your eyes.
*
A ghost appears
on your lips, when you explore
the silence of the road.
*
Learning the grammar
without prepositions; how will
you reach my words.
Satish Verma, 9 february 2019
A ghost truth
levels down,
the traffic. You enter
into catatonic stage.
Rage and anguish
will ask,
for the price of blood
flown down the river.
Listening
with the eyes. Leaffall,
luteus, music of descent
on grass.
A dust storm
settles on sill. I will
look through the window, at
a setting sun, unadored.
Satish Verma, 8 february 2019
Talking of obscenity
you were undressing
to show the scars.
It was and it was not
a display of is. Little
raw wound.
The lungs will not take
this insult and scream
in full horror.
One collapsed faith, after
the god failed him
to climb a ladder.
I am still convalescing
from the gunshot injury,
when you fired at a blackbird.
Satish Verma, 7 february 2019
Doing nothing, for no
obvious reason, engaging
the travails of self-watch, I do
not want to confront the propensity
of withdrawl.
The elder pain blooms, again
like Ipomea. Will not stand the
bright sun’s gaze, I will sail―
out between the blackened
teeth and stammering
words.
It sucks, the female snake.
The phloem, the flora. A tree kills
its own birds. Cannot ambulate
tender promises. A stricture
chokes the poem. Double-
edged truth lifts the weight.
Moon knows the art of giving.
Sends the blood tears.
Satish Verma, 6 february 2019
Attending to my laments,
reading a poem to myself
I could not foresee an incoming missile.
*
How could you change the world
when a black and white magpie
writes the script of life?
*
A god once told me
in whispers, he wants to
die in the shadeless sun.
Satish Verma, 5 february 2019
A sniper was around.
I did not want to rush
and kiss the jessamine.
Last night, it was a
retributory offer
to put off the candle.
I am here to stay
for prudence, speaking
the dialect of the nameless.
I survive the fetishes
of light. O unknown, I
live in darkness.
Moon was my solemn-
pledge. I had always stayed
in the house of truth.
Satish Verma, 4 february 2019
The feel, it hurts
when you
open the eyes.
The world
returns you back,
your name.
A moon
will miss the
night, the darkness.
A door shuts.
Nothing moves, except
the footfalls of unknown.
Satish Verma, 3 february 2019
The orange poem
wanted to blunt the white
moon, obliquely,
liberating the sameness
from the hands of
twin souls.
There was no invitation
to jump from the immoral peaks
when the fire broke out.
A blue thorn
in the flesh of a pink dawn
explores the text of broken earth.
Dust on dust
writes a song of wings
who would not take a flight.
Satish Verma, 2 february 2019
Earth was sending a long
shadow on the moon.
A great night for both of them.
*
A city of dreams
lies still. A divine path
opens for the erring earthlings.
*
A night falls
surreptitiously on the lake.
The moonlight was trapped by waves.
Satish Verma, 1 february 2019
Sailing over the body,
dream to dream
I see, a seated Buddha,
at salt coast.
Everytime you were on wrong
side. It was only accidental?
You start making a snap against
the thumb.
Levitating, you start to under-
stand life anew, cajoling
the pain of abandonment on
the roadside.
Dark lightning sexed the
clouds. Eons away a galaxy
had cried and signature came,
milky way.
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
