Satish Verma, 11 september 2018
Often,
I will return to myself,
to meet a lost ancestor;
exploring the statics―
of the room, from where the journey
had started.
I will read your face in dark. The
wrinkles, the broken teeth,
and the foggy vision.
The fire escape now lies bereft
of trappings. There is a blank space
there, sucking the sky.
The pragmatism had taken over
and I was left over with
the figures in stones.
I am trying to walk again
deep into the woods. The time stands
still. I am ready for an
uncounter with unknown.
Satish Verma, 10 september 2018
The nectar,
coming from nowhere,
settles on your lips.
*
A peacock
will show all the eyes,
wide open.
*
What will it mean
if a nuke is fired,
noiselessly, as a depth charge?
Satish Verma, 9 september 2018
It was oneness,
which brought my poetry
in the folds of autumn.
From words apart
you want to talk in space
for transparent signs.
The city sleeps
in morning mist, without
opening the windows-
of consciousness.
I come out in open
to watch the lone ficus tree
waiting to become a deity
of the walking shadows.
Satish Verma, 8 september 2018
I don't find words.
Words will find me crying,
when a drone hits the coral reef.
Between guilty and
innocent, the sleep will
level the night and
let go the dreams in sea.
The school of fish dies
in my story. The ship sails
for a new port. I cleave
a pattern of withdrawl.
Roses will come again, to
sign a pact with the unshaven
god, sitting on the pavement,
waiting to be beheaded.
Satish Verma, 7 september 2018
Unlocking,
the silver knife.
The poetry matters,
when it is dark.
*
Night,
has its own secrets, when,
dew spreads out
the beadings on grass.
*
Blackbuck was ready
to shed the antlers.
Moon was hornless.
Satish Verma, 6 september 2018
Invasion was thin
like a feather's fall
on the mirror.
Only bride will know,
the rose petals were
meant for unthinking.
Scattering rice
to dig out the tools
of prehistonic man.
The previous night
I taught myself
how not to peel the oranges―
with bare hands,
in terror, when there was
endless path to unknown.
Satish Verma, 4 september 2018
After carbon dating
you will find-
that pain does not shimmer.
The terror of words
and words of terror, testify
against the predator
for twisting a confession.
The world will never be the same!
The savage cool
of the landscape, turns me on.
I decide to burn the
god books.
A charcoal portrait on the wall
tells the truth. The blackbird
will come stealthily. Radar
was aimed at the temple of love.
The world will never be the same!
Satish Verma, 3 september 2018
When,
the scream ends, you start
digging the shadows of
red berries.
The sky,
scoops the children of rape,
waiting for
the rains.
The tiger beetle,
will run after the winged prey
of first love.
Would you like to taste
the moon in the dark bowl
of malicious night?
Reading about the spell
of the roses, I went to a
Sufi, for an epitaph.
Satish Verma, 1 september 2018
Blending with the light,
as ancients did-
on the leafy path.
You turn your gun-
on an old skull,
with broken teeth,
to rewrite the murder,
without qualms. A sniper
would take an aim.
Untouchable, the years
roll by, sending echos
in the valley of tears.
A final stroke.
The blood stops in the veins
while the angel sleeps.
Satish Verma, 31 august 2018
Crossing the divine,
I ask the marigolds
to return to the dust.
The gods were angry,
and dead would not speak
and the living were dead.
I am now heading towards-
the mute bells, disbelieving-
the great enlightment.
Rebuilding what was not true.
A dream will start telling
the price of the inflicted wounds.
I am not sure:
who were at fault.
The letters?
or the words?
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