Satish Verma, 9 december 2021
Numerical death
walks quietly in the ruins
of hubris and pride.
The neostrength of
the grass, goes for some aberration.
Wind stops at the gate of unknown.
It was not your fault.
We all were responsible
for the fall of grace.
The calculus of the rubble,
would not tell about―
the last words of fallen hero.
It imperils my belief,
when you wear a brace to―
tell the truth in dark.
Satish Verma, 8 december 2021
Your face swims like
a myth.
Night spreads the veil
of a cloud on the
white breast of moon.
No family. Words
move in different tacks.
Water heals, when
your feet were sore.
Soya beans. You have roasted
them alive in jumpsuits.
The faith becomes a devil.
The black eye
waits for the rain to
wash the racial smudge.
Satish Verma, 7 december 2021
You cannot bisect
the darkness,
in this unreal world.
A silent pause in words
ups the rejection. You
go out of your mind.
A shadow fear,
follows you in corridor
of light. You become friendless.
Amnesty comes in
way, to dismantle the truth
of kill, without blood.
Don't chase the columns
of light or beautiful
orbs, in intense winds of black hole.
It swallows you
whole, when you want
to touch them.
Satish Verma, 6 december 2021
With silver spoon, I
cannot eat your words―
selling my poverty.
Another pain comes,
when you walk barefoot
in hot sun, to feel the old burns.
Black moon, and red
eyes, in white nights.
These were my poems.
Your body comes in
between my blues
and trembling morrows.
Satish Verma, 5 december 2021
The horror of you in
lesser light, when you took
via dolorosa, to
meet yourself.
Moon was not waiting
for you in unkind sky. A
pinhole of dark would not send
some hope.
Something unsavory was a
way of unhappening,
tying the knot with the destiny
of doing nothing.
Losing my kernels in
desert of words. I took
the wrong path of liberation―
where no god lives.
Satish Verma, 4 december 2021
A dynamic kill,
when you start crystal―
gazing.
Were you a participant
of an organized
rape of the planet?
Your roots drop,
as you gamble with the
change of coins. It would
become a stillbirth,
of a seaisle.
Telling lies has become
a lucrative job.
Are you going to buy immortality,
in the bazaar of bazookas?
The blast cells were
rising. There was intense
pain in my thighs. Blood
was turning white.
Satish Verma, 3 december 2021
Dancing on the trembling
flames, virtually
remaining calm, I was just
watching your hands― the palms, and
only the stance of pointing fingers.
I mimic the death
in a cage, burned alive―
or beheaded by a black night
under the moon. One digit added
to the depth of an ocean,
which has no shores.
One day, you will forget
me, walk away from the hand-written
beautiful calligraphy, describing the agony
of man, who would not drop
his pen, even, tyranny tearing away
his limbs.
Satish Verma, 2 december 2021
Flesh by flesh
bone by bone.
I am tired of your religion.
The fake rituals―
to anoint the sins.
Meanwhile someone will execute
the pollen heads.
Blackbirds will come
and go in the corridors
of power to get the plums.
After a murderous day
slowly the moon
rises, to wash out the
dark stains of earth.
Satish Verma, 1 december 2021
You started parenting
a blitz,
against my nest.
I am bleeding on my lines.
It is hurting
me a lot.
Like breathing in chlorine.
The mercury rises, falls.
Towards unknown blues,
you took a dive. I cannot
read the signature―
of nemesis.
Would not find a
kindred spirit. I was trying
to follow you in dark.
The story does not end
here. Back to antiquity, did you
believe in a second cousin
of moon, that were you?
Satish Verma, 30 november 2021
Pure kill.
I pull out the shivering
heart in my eyes.
A rising sin. I will
not forget you, never―
your tongue bifida.
And a real―
murder of a blue-green cow
reared for religion.
That sucks. The
numbers, the lies and
the terrible abuses.
The shadows are
lengthening and you were
becoming small.
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