Satish Verma, 5 february 2017
What a long friendship with
moon!
I refuse to accept the blast.
Papa is dead, he said and
latched on to circularity.
I don't seek the interbreeding
with terror.
It was me in reverse mode
of cryptomania.
Too stoic; stop. I think
I am wrong; stop. And a serenade
for the lady luck. This life
was too much for me; stop.
Androgynous.
The female body wants to eat
maleness, by almond eyes.
The old man was walking barefoot
with a paintbrush.
Satish Verma, 4 february 2017
A hoot at midnight
goes challenging the deaf.
You strip to bones.
The dawn persists:
Will the sun on the sea
kill the dreams?
Do you see the gap
between the clouds?
I am going to make a heap of
all the interstitial escapes.
Flesheaters were scrawling on
the cheeks. A revolution of
wheels has failed.
A baby dies in womb
without A leap into future.
The father carries the burden
of chimneys.
A godless moon laughs
at the stupid earth,
which was talking about stars.
Satish Verma, 2 february 2017
It was more than
I could take.
The phallic paranoia.
Can I come out of
your body and kneel
before death?
Less than dark
I dream of the nipples
spurting out venom.
A pumice raft
of the crowd, sailing
on the waves of narcissism.
Invisible sharks
on high seas
open the lambs for salt.
Can you eat your
words please?
There is nothing left on the plate.
Satish Verma, 1 february 2017
Have not crossed the street
in many years
to greet you.
A slice of moon
leaves footprints in blood.
Maintaining the perfection
you start giving names to trees.
Paraplegia:
you start dismanteling the life
in search of romance with death
for immersing the dreams.
Take hold of my arms
I want to invent your portrait
in sands of nocturne.
Drink the milk of silence.
It is dark, but soothing.
Go to sleep.
Satish Verma, 30 january 2017
Stone by stone you kill me.
Petal by petal I die -
holding a scalpel
to unwrite my name.
Violence
erupts among words.
A temple breaks.
O goddess! don't cry beyond silence.
The infant's milk
spills in darkness.
Antiquity raises a wall
around the mother.
I am vanishing now,
freezing my assets.
Satish Verma, 29 january 2017
Sloping down in gold pursuit
of a bruised city,
sons of nameless fathers
were changing the generic mandate.
I am becoming fluvial
going on a muted odyssey
to find unmarked graves.
Slaughtering
your own lines, in praise of end-
which came very soon;
before the windows altered the moon.
Genes spilled on the road
recalling the wounded
son whose lexicon took him
to war with the meanings.
Satish Verma, 28 january 2017
Trotting along; fighting death -
with delaying techniques.
Chemo had failed.
Weeping Ashoka, how do I
name you differently?
I may not see you again.
I am hurt, very badly.
Absolutely rooted, firmly
in autumn. My leaves were falling.
Pushing back the interface
between smiles and tears;
the trespasser goes to moon.
It was traditional,
garlanding the poet-
who had killed his muse.
Satish Verma, 27 january 2017
Unslept-
hangman, flees from the noose.
The day had come to execute.
A thought had become a fear
but fear was not a thought.
Naked in the moon
a wolf wants move of something
leaning on the hills of thirst,
bitten by the views of cemetery.
The landscape
was changing. You want to cover your head
with a topi, standing on the edge
of a lake before you are drowned
under the burning eyelids.
A Buddha smiles from
the shelf. How can you fill the emptiness
of a bowl, which has
hundred holes?
Satish Verma, 26 january 2017
Tonight
the nectar will be spread
to tame a random tormentor.
Black and white,
I never saw my father weeping.
Lonely he was.
I am
my own creation today
weather beaten. Confession to -
confession, unread. When the-
storm was tethered,
there was flooding and neck deep-
you were in tears. Am cannibalizing
my own poems, to write a new line.
It was a midnight moon.
Satish Verma, 25 january 2017
Will pursue
the star killed by a limb.
A black hole
is going to devour him.
What was ahead now
in the sea of reverse pain?
You were knocking out
your own creation.
In the hunger's wake
will you stop eating your own
words and say something
of the locked doors of eyes?
I cannot sing the scars
and unmask the fires.
It is gratifying when you are silent,
and still you are heard.
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