Satish Verma, 10 february 2022
Poster poems appear
again with all frozen insignias.
I was trying to find a good
remedy, for insomnia.
You wash your moon― shined
face, like a swan gliding
on lips. There was no surgery.
A cuckoo has gone
dumb. Wants a Victorian era
of silver coins.
And the underbelly
lies bare for the spiders
to ride the whistling pains.
Time stoppers were
ready to light the pyres. They
was no other home for death.
You kill the mini ants
running on the mirror. Were
you seeking revenge?
Satish Verma, 9 february 2022
With unease, I follow
the terror on terrace.
The moon was sauntering on the spiky grill.
Fugitive words. I wanted
to take them home. It was
a tipping pain.
That was a brazen assault
in my privacy. Leave me
alone with my roses―
I wanted to talk to them
for a while, before I climb
the rainbow to become artless.
The muse sometimes leaves
me behind. The body gives in,
fighting off the daydreams.
Satish Verma, 8 february 2022
Like a hedgehog you raise
your spines.
I bleed unbitten.
The sharp polarization
starts a brutal war―
on changing genetics.
The editing of human
behavior with a streak of desire,
goes for lip therapy.
Unimpressed I remain,
after the chlorine attack.
You cannot burn the spirit.
Your tactis anger―
the sparrows. They are migrating
to marry another summer.
Satish Verma, 7 february 2022
The sexless hiccoughs
have started,
in the valley of death planet.
Sovereignty of pure
kiss, in garden of moons― will
feel threatened.
Cannot wipe out
the darkness. The hooded
fear splits the white heels of running sun.
I jump over the sharp blades
of swaying Passiflora, where
pouting lips spread the dark berries.
The paper boats will
not touch the bottom of lake.
You can collect the relies on red beach.
Not you, not me
will prove the virginity
of truth.
Satish Verma, 6 february 2022
Time eats the winter, to―
rebuild the fallen ally
of solar storms.
You refused to accept
the incense of disdain, while
carrying the lover in your muse.
Like dandelion's seeds
with downy tufts, your eyes laugh.
Lips pursed, you do not want to go insane.
The need to break was
very strong. I lose myself in a pause.
should shift for another niche.
There was a conspiracy.
Moon was going for a walk―
with another suitor.
Satish Verma, 4 february 2022
Under the jacaranda tree,
near the fragrant trunk,
lies a sheet of blue trumpet―
shaped flowers.
You are home, near
the lotus feet of marbled
Buddha, standing erect.
You are walling in
Agni's wrath, with wild thoughts.
The somatization becomes very unkind.
It foretells the reality.
Curves take you to lakes. You read more
of the depth of water.
What was the avant-garde
of new age, against
the tight lips of crusade?
Satish Verma, 3 february 2022
Completely broke,
an empty glass, wants
to drink from your eyes.
Validity was incredible
between the silence
of centuries.
Give back my nowness.
Future had migrated into past.
Moon will not rise
for me.
Where was the apotheosis
of my defeats? Any extra
kiss of fireflies was not sufficient.
I will write my own
end in your hands, when
sun brings down the flame.
To sin with the invisible,
had become a liberation.
Satish Verma, 2 february 2022
Waiting for the unwaiting
to appear. The green pigeons
will reduce the palace to rubble.
Could it be like― the
first man to die has become
a savior?
I hold your tender
face in my hands to
read the axioms.
Mumbling something―
Inaudible, I will address,
the upright past.
An unborn love child
Kicks at the walls of the womb.
It was time to see the world.
Satish Verma, 1 february 2022
Moon injured―
after reaching climax.
At the death of a poem
nobody was ready to climb the pyre.
A collapsed river was
sleeping in your eyes. I will
come and wake up the sun.
Now I am melting.
Some troubling signs were there.
You were becoming vulnerable,
if the rock cried. And you
wanted to die in my arms.
O brute, cold-blooded
murderer, the shadow of the comet
was lengthening. I don't
want any roses for funeral.
A self-image had the last laugh.
Satish Verma, 31 january 2022
From uncultured to
subcultured, I was made to―
feel responsible.
My coffers remained
empty. The nightmares had
squirreled away my peace.
And I was always
steeling for a reply. Embracing
the dark woods for support.
Everyday you changed
the mask to become innocent,
separating the sparks from the ash.
Paralysed like sea―
anemone without water. The
sea had receded in haste.
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