Satish Verma, 28 october 2018
Without words, I wanted
to write a poem. Would you
read it from the moist eyes?
*
It was a strange thing.
Finding the darkness of whitemoon
in blue air.
*
The wolf was there
in the house, to
molest the moonlight.
Satish Verma, 27 october 2018
It was snowing, snowing
very hard. Hold me
tight, when the wolf comes.
*
The wolf comes in red
cloak. Why did you ask me
to pin a white rose on him?
*
There was no quiver,
no tremor. The murder was
clean, without blood. Desert ants.
Satish Verma, 26 october 2018
Like water hyacinth of lake
you cannot run away
from your psyche.
*
A separation from the
body was imminent.
Moon was calling.
*
The myth was there,
and summer, the night
opens like a medusa.
Satish Verma, 25 october 2018
At dusk, when moon was coming up
fidelity was challenged.
No soul was searched.
It was the body scarred in bright sun.
One pink petal flew over the cloud
and landed on the lake.
Will you gather the name and
send it back home?
It was a sacred gem, in the
navel of organdie, you had
worn on the night of a slaughter.
Opalescence, scolds the light,
dark was beautiful?
Satish Verma, 24 october 2018
Arising before the dawn,
to meet the earth,
your honeymoon was over with innocent.
You start becoming extinct,
with stained excuses. Naked as a belief.
There was no contradiction.
An imitation will take over,
for the surreal tomb.
A gift of rain will fill the bowl
left for Buddha, who was still sleeping
with eyes half-open.
A sage grouse begins the mating dance.
Can you speak for the scars? They
promised to remain mute.
Satish Verma, 23 october 2018
Holding the truth for the
sake of time and space.
I will not ask your name.
*
In fading moonlight
you had abducted my boat.
How will I cross the river?
*
A civil war erupts between
the flowers of morning glory.
It has changed the way you think.
Satish Verma, 22 october 2018
Tonight, come for moon watch.
I will show you the night birds.
There was an impasse to find
the missing link for peace. A story
will not end in the water. A long
border was interrupted by the
wriggling snakes.
Of flesh. I will talk about the panic now.
You were collecting the flowers
from the ashes of dehydrated body.
I am leaving the race now,
to pay the debt of death.
A pink sky starts the endless struggle
to retrieve the black sun.
Satish Verma, 21 october 2018
You dig in your heels,
when blood spills
under the skin.
Refuses to go, the homeless moon,
I will call the snow to cover the sod.
Scavenging,
through the stray thoughts, you
pick up the threads, to knit―
a scarf for the poem.
Body born, a planet
breaks, in your epic. The ivory
shaving will make a white gold.
The birth pangs start in natal pain.
Satish Verma, 20 october 2018
Noway, I will ask
the poem, to become stressed out,
like the street,
beaten and used again
and again.
Where do you want to go
for a rendezvous with―
unknown, in dark,
groping for the unsung,
unseen meaning?
Time is worn out. You live
on the fringes, unselling
your ancient home, submerged,
after the earthquake,
triggered by ghosts of comments.
Satish Verma, 16 october 2018
When I hold the pen,
it trembles in my hand; the poem.
The catharsis.
Zero minus, to no to everything
against the main stream.
You start kinking.
Gawking?
Every night I carry my glitches
to bed, to fight my demons.
Falteringly, you speak:
it should not have happened.
The genetic aberration?
Nudges the crass exhibition
of alphabets of exorcism.
You invoke the dumb gods, who will
not vacate the accelerandos.
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