Satish Verma, 4 september 2017
No words,
no thoughts,
remained unkissed, unwed
by a shapeless white death.
Still under the spell,
I squatter before the moon,
peeling off, to receive
the ultimate.
I am trying,
to find the roots,
of unknown.
Breaking protocol, for a
moron liability, unclouding
the dark sky. It was homecoming
of a Michelangelo to repeat
the performance.
I want to write
a dirty poem
Satish Verma, 3 september 2017
A bruise-
opens up again.
Why you did not know,
how to stop, in the blue night,
under the shadow of
god particles?
A glimpse-
of the naked form;
the size, the shape,
unsettles the script, the committed
dogma. Why you were still
unvisible, O glory?
Absurdity-
of the beliefs.
Life becomes a peddeler.
I don’t want to go to any bazaar
now. A poem is good enough
to move on.
Satish Verma, 3 september 2017
Absolutely sapped out
I will unfurl
my flag today.
It was a raw wound
of nuanced statements in dark
when the moon fell in lake.
Talking to butterflies
as I take on the genre
of brainstormed hibiscuses.
It rained again in my
courtyard, wetting the
marbles and my eyes.
Take away the roof from
over my head. I have
come to meet the frozen tears.
The enormous guilt now
haunts the vacant eyes, why I didnot
accept the voluptuous breast of death.
Satish Verma, 3 september 2017
Absolutely sapped out
I will unfurl
my flag today.
It was a raw wound
of nuanced statements in dark
when the moon fell in lake.
Talking to butterflies
as I take on the genre
of brainstormed hibiscuses.
It rained again in my
courtyard, wetting the
marbles and my eyes.
Take away the roof from
over my head. I have
come to meet the frozen tears.
The enormous guilt now
haunts the vacant eyes, why I didnot
accept the voluptuous breast of death.
Satish Verma, 1 september 2017
I again went for the goldfish.
One day I took you, in the
night sky, rubbing on the
sea, under an ebony moon.
The roasted munching in
fabricated letters for
the orgiastic drill.
Why one always becomes
sadistic in self- torture,
the drifting among tombs-
of broken words, in our
maligned ink? The clear
path suddenly becomes invisible.
I again hear the sobbing of
a trembling ghost of past.
Satish Verma, 31 august 2017
It went through me
the hot day;
vaulting back.
at night.
To hustle the poetry things.
Weary of the luminous
dials. I want to
think in dark.
*
The bookcase was empty.
Croaking words
had departed for
greener pastures.
Hold on.
I am coming to
defuse the grenades.
Satish Verma, 30 august 2017
The maligned,
bloody moon,
will never show
the darkside.
Like
human nature,
a theorem,
unsolved.
*
The fiction
was incomplete.
The end,
was unending.
Blaming
the punctuation.
*
No
amnesic stance.
I wanted to stitch
The fragmented past.
The tainted
weeds, will not
allow the phrase
to complete.
*
Was there any
need to catch
the essence of physical?
The words were
sufficient to hurt
the unborn.
Satish Verma, 30 august 2017
The maligned,
bloody moon,
will never show
the darkside.
Like
human nature,
a theorem,
unsolved.
*
The fiction
was incomplete.
The end,
was unending.
Blaming
the punctuation.
*
No
amnesic stance.
I wanted to stitch
The fragmented past.
The tainted
weeds, will not
allow the phrase
to complete.
*
Was there any
need to catch
the essence of physical?
The words were
sufficient to hurt
the unborn.
Satish Verma, 28 august 2017
Pillage started,
when there were anti-answers.
The trapped light-
wanted to be
released,
from brutalism.
When you were
nearly drowned,
in the multitude of questions,
joining the palms,
you collect the moments
of solitude.
You drop a key
in the ocean.
Its imprint swims
to the other side of shore.
You felt lonely
stars said, it is time for us to leave.
Satish Verma, 27 august 2017
Tearing up,
the revised versions.
Wall was rising.
Invisible,
like the unconceived
terror.
Half-eaten space,
the man wants to
hide the holiness.
The final leap,
for the hips, the lips
for the dive.
The bloodied
paperweight, which smasthed
the skull of a bald deity.
The arguments, that
kill the path, a
gift of sky.
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