Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 23 february 2017

A Love And Hate Story

I was learning, how 
not to catch you. 
 
Called the cloud 
hugging a hillside. 
Can you climb on the road? 
No, it said, I want to play with the moon. 
 
So, 
this was becoming, 
without presence. 
An epiphany? No it was a crying 
theme, discovery of the self. 
 
When the tremors came, 
you were flung like a doll, 
opening the earth 
one breath long. 
 
Swallows were eyeing the sky. 
 
 

 
The hollow tree 
traps the light and sends out 
the blue pupils of yellow eyes. 
 
I am still counting the limbs 
under the boulders. 
The landmass was moving asking names. 
 
The big vulture was watching 
the end of the feast, 
for schizophrenics. 
 
A bomb hidden in turban will 
kill a saint. You say I should 
call for the girls. 
 
Why don't you wear the skullcap 
to cover the beautiful mind 
which will not kiss the fire?
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 22 february 2017

Solitudes

The questions hang like skin tags. 
A broken mirror, stabs 
during birth of time. 
 
We have got to do it, save it 
in its infancy, before it is submerged 
along with the temple of fake gods: - 
 
before it is plagiarized by the 
polity. The wives were fattening 
on art of running the state 
 
from behind the curtains. Would 
you like to sign on my skin? 
Your death wish? I am washing 
 
my sins today. It is bit cold 
here in the blue lake of tears. Now 
you can hold my arm for final plunge.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 21 february 2017

Millstone

They were decapitated 
in winter. 
To send forth again, fresh, 
the green twigs of summer. 
Trees of roadside. 
 
My friends, I used to talk 
to them in my morning walk. 
 
Once I sat under 
a wishing tree for a divine feel. 
There were lots of colored threads 
tied round the massive trunk. 
I wanted to arrive in the neighbourhood 
of absurd escapes of a 
fake religion. 
 
My footfalls on stairs were becoming 
louder, lugging the wasted life. 
It was time now. 
To understand the deep shadows 
of unanswered questions.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 20 february 2017

Night Light

That cameo was my secret grief. 
He will make you sing, 
the hooded moon. 
 
Not a sacred thing 
Kissing the toes of a traveller 
for fecundity. 
 
In doorway it was between 
us and them for bargaining 
for Dahlias. 
 
Lips unkissed will call for 
honey from bees. 
Eyes will srarch for a candle. 
 
In alien land of flames 
and tumultuous desires, 
the golden breasts will take revenge.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 19 february 2017

Listening Schubert

Changing thoughts 
were creating chaos in frenzy, 
unabashed, following the stricken 
prey, to reclaim 
the violence of a stalker. 
 
Was there any law of jungle? 
Or rule of law in the midstream 
of a formless prosthesis, 
gaping void, throwing up 
a primordial fear. 
 
Becoming tired of looking at 
the wastes around. No mystery 
was left in life. How often you 
will sit on the pyre to ignite the high 
priests of knowledge? 
 
The curved images of receding 
years are disappearing. How long 
you will wait, 
how long?


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 18 february 2017

Gyrations

I am lifting 
your blood-soaked shirt 
giving the latitude to planet 
which broke the law. 
 
The elite 
wants to know, why you were 
still here, when steam was rising 
in golden night? 
 
An extended 
grief overtakes the wind 
in the flute. You become a free man 
walking naked. 
 
The gyres 
were calibrating the magi. 
An empty niche waits for a Buddha 
to take the re-birth.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 17 february 2017

Not In Tears

Now I am used to 
betrayals. 
I don’t hit back 
in the vanishing light. 
 
Very frightening, 
I will say. 
Sightless bats hovering 
round your head. 
 
Have started playing 
the game with the nettle. 
I will take the stings 
and give you back honey. 
 
An intimate kiss of a 
naked beetle. 
Are you coming for the 
last supper?
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 16 february 2017

Sin And Prayer

I am pulling out from the committed 
sin, cadaver walking, 
digging the gold from the pit. 
 
Footwears of dead men were 
heaped into a pile when 
god was praying. 
 
Was it a perceived tragedy 
of a man drawing doodles 
to offset the sunset? 
 
You were alone, dousing 
the fire and shaping the clay. The 
hamlet was less inclined to intercede. 
 
Your flesh slips from my hands 
for a rebirth. I was flying a kite. 
I was dead before you were born again.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 14 february 2017

An Art

A calling from zietgeist; 
when a flute versus beast 
starts a power play. 
 
My world becomes wet. 
Amorous, 
when I watch a moth in your fist. 
 
A split moon peels off 
the cuticle, for a mega show of the 
cone, shedding cruciform sword. 
 
The white tiger leaps with 
precision, spilling the milk container. 
It was moonlight. 
 
The baked smile now gathers 
the teeth for a final bite. 
The diamonds now quiver like a fear.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 13 february 2017

Reparation

Tell me, is it not pathetic 
that we keep on drifting 
away from our loved-ones as the 
time beats us out. 
 
You were in a marathon. 
Did something go wrong? Why, 
why did you run faster than others 
to become a sole survivor of the massacre? 
 
Life would want to know 
your name, which you had wiped 
out from every page of the book, 
uncorrupting the painful cessation. 
 
What was concealed 
in between the words when you 
went into the soul 
to erase the bodyprint from the bed? 
 
There was nothing left unsaid. 
The death said, I will not come.


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