Satish Verma, 3 march 2018
You were obliged
to watch the curse
on the caterpillar,
forced to fly.
It was a stunning spectacle.
The walnut tree scooping
to gather,
the gold of black berries.
Speak up my lord. Did you live
in the ghetto to know the
truth of thatched roofs? Were
you afraid of huge mansions?
It was not your heart; a
borrowed sample of imitiative
poetry. I will still go for
the rhythm of unspoken words.
kipruto muthemba, 2 march 2018
Last night I had a dream
Vivid and as gentle as cream
A visit from the woman on the moon
I think birds call her Princess Moone
Her light transforms nights
From eerie black blank canvases
To theatres worth dates and dances
Princess Moone took my dreamy hands
For a moonlit walk through our lands
From the mesmerizing Longonot crater
In the rift valley, the foot sole of the creator
To the breathtaking might of Mount Kenya
And in recognition of the princess highness
The Tsavo lions roared with greatness
And the elephants trumpeted with grandness
In adorations of the princess
The woman on the moon.
Satish Verma, 2 march 2018
Take a call and bring
the upside down.
The desire becomes supreme.
Are you going to redeem
for the lost empire?
A musk deer will start
the scent-marking.
This was the price of
insecurity in the mob.
Unhook the wounds.
Life will give you
a new pretext to die.
It was an ordinary name.
No prefix and no frills.
You were ready to become anonymous.
Post Scriptum, 1 march 2018
she smelled like fear and forget-me-not
the day I questioned my own egsistence
burried deep under her delicate skin
reincarnated silence of our thoughts
turned night that gave birth to wolves
into a dreamless falling
i woke up the sun on the ceiling
just in time for last words
allowed by the hangman
Satish Verma, 1 march 2018
Between the sun and moon
you come to transcend
the frescoes on the sky
for a lost chance.
It fuels the anxiety.
When do I meet you
in dark to explore the
lightning rod.
The inside enemy will
allude to self-immolation.
Where will end the
agony of man?
The carnage continues
unabated. The crowds are thinning.
Lurking men on fimbriae dump the veils.
Who will invite them today?
Satish Verma, 28 february 2018
You had placed floating
garden on the crest
of five-headed white cobra.
The hooded death,
strikes; when you were
tending to bonsai.
Over to moon,
you send the message. But
The book was incomplete.
On the way to
tiny thoughts, an odyssean
task to put the right words.
I will go and
stand on the edge, to
watch the glorious senset.
Satish Verma, 27 february 2018
Everytime you discover
a new black hole;
someone crosses the border
and starts crying.
Thread weaved in and out
of tapestry. You were nailed
to the wall, which never
had any doors.
Why were you not a mackintosh?
You scripted strangely, talking
of an open world. You smell
a war between the poems-
in a book. There was no ad hoc
pain in groins. Your boney
nose went to find the peat moss
in the jungle of sandalwoods.
Satish Verma, 26 february 2018
On the edge,
you receive the onslaught
of moonlight.
Drummed and sawed,
you take up the challenge
and move on.
In rains
the dreams wash the rainbow
inviting the Iris.
Tonight, you
will have an audience
will the estranged god.
A taper
in the sun wants its
place on the moon.
Satish Verma, 25 february 2018
After the spooky night
there was the
morphean balm.
You pull out the meat
from the bones.
A genteel confession-
keeps tumbling out.
The haunted house
sends forth the tiny ghosts.
It was moon time.
You will drop a torpedo-
to unsettle the stray thoughts.
The geometry
falters. Lines are drawn
to remove the dots.
The skin you left
on the road;
still glows like a smoldering coal.
Satish Verma, 24 february 2018
The spirit hovers.
I am not interested in a
séance. Let me come face to face
with the book to share clean
or unclean thoughts.
Not able to print my deep
angst. A clash of cultures. I
will call the unprinted scream. The
dismembered limbs begin
a dance of unfolding
the hate.
It was a jig.
Of scaffoldings for the
peacocks to shed their wings.
Everyone was falling for the green-gold
to be embossed on the dust
cover of life.
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