Satish Verma, 9 november 2018
Suddenly, the full moon
pops up soundlessly. I was stunned
by sheer nakedness.
*
Will you catch a
butterfly for my reluctant wine?
I had invited the black roses.
*
A city does not
sleep any more, after the call
of service, fumbling with the locks.
Satish Verma, 8 november 2018
Standing on deathway,
choking back tears,
for a stance.
There were few minutes left,
when you took the cover
under pervasive falcon.
Was it not a
molestation of a baby moon,
when you wash your sin in dimlight.
Amazing was the
religion of short legs.
An ailing mother was waiting at door.
You strike a chord
(while I don't stir)
before anointing the dark.
The battle of penultimates,
after a hill down
shackled to river.
Satish Verma, 7 november 2018
The basics to live
was with the peeling off,
the tangerines. The innovative flight
takes you to surrealism-
of a countdown, which begins
to send a subsonic device
to small jupiters.
You receive the call and
jump into black sea-
eliminating the foes, breaking the bridge.
This moment after sometime splits,
ejects the god particle.
You slip out of backyard
to embrace the apparition.
The ending was never a happy thing.
Satish Verma, 6 november 2018
Do you think milk?
The medicine,
had already become
a bromide.
One benign question,
opened the potential
of conflict. The fan-
tasy? Golden knife?
Devastating me. Car-
essing the dark, did
you stop by the moon
to say hello?
Unmasking the secret―
of immortality? Ephebic.
You were always lying
to yourself.
Satish Verma, 5 november 2018
Between the soft glow of
twilight and moon, it was
cold. For a faithful swan.
*
The black smoke billows
from the rooftops of mud houses.
Time to celebrate a dinner.
*
I will not give up,
though nothing was left to do.
Atleast I can write a poem.
Satish Verma, 4 november 2018
Put me through the
french knots. I am
under the gaze of
a jilted lover.
A freeze melts in
the rainbow. The dew
sits on the eyebrows
of the grass.
The spark splits
between the shadows.
Someone has hanged
himself from the window.
There was no life left
in the stump. Now
bristles will not stand
at ancient sites.
Satish Verma, 3 november 2018
A machine pain,
scripts the name secretly,
intones the verdict.
*
I don't need,
to prove it, like the man
who sells the dreams.
*
Privacy interrupted,
I have come out in open,
to commit the god.
Satish Verma, 1 november 2018
Who was the dancer of death?
You went for the kill,
and not for the killer.
The frail armistice. You
launch a drive for the drill.
It was more than what-
meets the eye. Looks like an
Armageddon. You begin in earnest
to ward off the paranoia.
Nativity was at stake. A
captive psyche fights the fading
memory. Your face goes blank.
My things and your things.
It should not have happened this way.
It should not have happened that way.
Satish Verma, 31 october 2018
The time will not heal. The
aging looks. Erotica. Each
scream ends in a dry river.
Who had the right to deliver
the needle and a silk thread?
Sometimes I will read you for
the signs of remorse. There
was this rigid wrinkle which
will not move on the face.
It will not matter if the grief
overwhelms. The scare was
real. Regurgitation. The bell
will not ring today. The pod
splits to release the seeds.
Come my mentor. I have tested
the floor, smelled the rope. The
translation should end tonight.
Satish Verma, 30 october 2018
Needing a bit less,
I wanted to discover myself.
Raise the chimney.
The house in on fire.
The door sleeps in the room.
Sun will find no corner
to sit. Can you call a cloud
to make the floor wet?
The knuckles come alive, rap
the window to stay calm. Someone
had knocked out the space
and coming in to meet the hunger.
A shrine has asked the roads
to be washed with tears of pilgrims
who had come from the faraway
hymns of darkness to script the light.
I am carrying the seeds of my
native place to find the roots.
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