Satish Verma, 18 november 2021
Will I know you―
by unknowing myself in bleak―
moments of giving
wings to you?
Raising your legacy; losing
my words, I block
a masterstroke. Something
was wrong. I was walking alone.
Disrobing a covered
statue, the anguish of
incorrectness hangs.
Enduring a song of―
drums, calling the sun from clouds
for a wounded earth.
What was truth
in jungle of beasts? Any
humming left on the lips of trees?
Satish Verma, 17 november 2021
An earthy scent
rises, when―
you rain in me.
The hole in
heart. Naked
as salt of eyes.
My roving boat
sinks near
the banks of ashes.
Pure and white
like snow
you fall on my lips.
Satish Verma, 16 november 2021
It is.
What you don't think,
and don't want to share. Nothing.
Kamikaze― divine wind
destroying your crotch.
Saffron― dried stigmas.
The hiss of a dead shake,
kitchen's flavor for celibates.
Many roads to reach
the mannequins. God is
one. Hydra's tentacles catch
the believers.
Unwholesome.
I won't taste the violence
of celestial bamboos.
Satish Verma, 15 november 2021
Break your silence.
Stay for me.
Face-to-face, after
my first inning,
prey for me.
To know the whole truth
I will change the
ecosystem.
The fake reals,
would become the change,
you never wanted to see.
Smitten by your verses
I was in distress. The
sexless army of thoughts
stand in snaky queues―
beating the big gods.
A nickel for your
eyes. Why they have become
fathomless?
Satish Verma, 14 november 2021
That mad truth.
The unborn was knifed
long back. Now you throw―
the net in the crowd.
I had found you
after the centuries of conflict―
in small eyes, looking
for the stolen myths.
I want to hold your
face one day and bury it
in my tears. It should not have
happened in the jungle
of jinxed plays.
The unmarked tree. I
had picked up the fallen fruit
to taste you. Would you
find me in dark?
Satish Verma, 13 november 2021
Moment of truth.
Bougainvilleas
on grass.
A visible absence.
I was searching―
you in poems.
Your fluid eyes.
My moon-clouds
ready to crash on the land.
In my cupped hands
I collect the tears
of the sky.
Satish Verma, 12 november 2021
Muzzle the ape, that
bleeds the tall tree,
tearing apart the blue birds.
I saw it coming.
I was overwrought; watching a
beheading― of the innocent,
in the town square.
People standing in queues to
grab the voodoos.
When you will end my woes
basking in the glory of blood?
O god, take away my chips,
my papers,
my pen.
I am tired of this deceit of man.
Everybody walks like a saint
on the holy banks
where flows the river of tears.
Satish Verma, 11 november 2021
In twilight
the sickle moon,
waits for the dark.
What a kill.
Roses in bloom
watch haying.
Halix of life
uncoils, to warm
the man.
The butterflies
shiver in sun.
Fine weather.
Satish Verma, 10 november 2021
Today I am alone―
with myself,
not even with wet eyes.
A corona intends to go into flames.
Stars unaligned―
where was the need of the god
to commit a failure?
The ruins must stay for ever.
Hurtling towards the sun
you wanted to know― why black scorpions
live in the flares of light?
Nothingness bites you. The
despair hurts, because you wanted
the freedom to die without
inventing the Deity.
My guilt should not be identified.
Satish Verma, 8 november 2021
Under your eyes
shadows, my poems curl up.
When do I call you?
From wires, tiny drops
of dew hang perilously.
Sun was going to kiss.
First I take you, then
I will cry for the last time.
Going to meet the gods.
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