Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 5 february 2017

Morphed

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.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 4 february 2017

Furious Wounds

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.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 2 february 2017

Glitches

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.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 1 february 2017

Self-Watch

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.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 30 january 2017

Walking Toeless


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.

 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 29 january 2017

Watching Our Warts

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.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 28 january 2017

Fierce Mooning

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.
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 27 january 2017

Survival

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?
 


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 26 january 2017

Walking Into You

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.


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Satish Verma

Satish Verma, 25 january 2017

Returning Favour

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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