Satish Verma, 17 march 2021
Your face had only the
eyes, when you flew backwards,
hovering like a humming bird.
There was no absolute,
hoisting the beheaded god.
In transience I will meet you
in air and shed the body.
In mouth-hole you put
all your wisdom, to bisect the
virgin house. Violence creeps into
the roses. They droop and bleed.
I will talk to burgundy-black
moon, not to leave footprints on
my face. My lips are going to
catch the stolen kisses.
Satish Verma, 16 march 2021
Ah, this was the comfort of
defiance. You can
expunge the consonance.
You are not proving anything
except to play devious game,
with fossils. The lunacy
will hide you.
A thoughtless state comes
to exit. There is absolute stillness
in the busy bee suspended
in moonlight.
No awards. No flogging. What
you can give without seeking
any space? You cannot
eat your own progeny.
Satish Verma, 15 march 2021
Float seamlessly in dark.
Come in my arms,
like a cloud―
like a moon.
The cult will live
on for eternity to
meet the challenger.
The objector had
the flatfoot. Will walk
overdressed.
In eerie silence―
an agile titan was going
to vilify himself.
Conscientiously I
wanted to feel you once
in my verses.
No virtue, no sin
was needed to come to
the lips of an abyss.
Satish Verma, 14 march 2021
This command was
unpunishable.
I will not accept the defeat
from life.
You were mending the shoes,
of god. My vase had
broken. This is my burden,
I carry the body of a poem.
Waterfalls. I stand in
midstream. Throw my walking stick
in flowing stream. Will heal
the dead legs of a thought.
The belly is full of crickets.
No light. The unending muffled
trill. The pebbles fall in nightmares.
I seek the ending of blue marks.
The air fills the lungs with your prayers for me.
Satish Verma, 13 march 2021
In moonscape, a flower
remedy, enters the white
smoke of your eyes. An open―
house shuts.
The coal writes its name on
blue skin. We were slaves of our
own deeds. I want to go back to
my ancestors, to learn the clock.
Unheard the suicide of
a viper, eating its own venom.
The fat people will come in line―
to pay homage.
White caps and black caps in
thick silence, drink the empty glasses,
cutting the meat of the books―
and reading again the sky.
Satish Verma, 12 march 2021
Exploring yourself―
with an ornate dagger,
to find the missing link.
My integrity was at
stake. From where did―
you start?
Bring the steel from
the sea, and loneliness
from the storm.
The beige sunset
would dare to go ahead
of the red moon.
Will you threaten a
small reply? The lips were
in the state of siege.
I will meet you
one day at distant dangers.
How far you will go with me?
Satish Verma, 10 march 2021
I do not know,
If it was a religious assault―
to meet god,
face to face―
when my poem was burning.
One tooth broken―
I cannot speak properly. But
my eyes will show my angst,
my unretrieved light
from a tunnel.
Who will find the sun, when
night was sick? And grievers
had gone to dig up a grave?
There was a meaningless pain,
in waiting. The poem was dead.
Day you are in, day you
are out. It was a beauty
to hear nothing.
Satish Verma, 9 march 2021
Starting a crush,
on the baby face moon.
Only half-sinned
by staying quiet.
Think straight.
If you don't spell out,
you will snap―
like the fallen blue angel.
Falling in arms. Space
was small. Ars poetica―
faulted. You feel―
luggage was heavy.
For a griever, it was
a long walk. In trance a
city lifts your pyre.
You refuse to burn alive.
Calling names in sleep.
Satish Verma, 8 march 2021
A circle,
will not become complete,
without a center.
The peripheries
cannot be defined.
Why should we
become prisoners
of small gods?
The hope―
is a gift of unknown.
Take it.
Satish Verma, 7 march 2021
Walk warily.
You are in crisis zone.
Moon will not rise today.
*
A bare phenomenon
of shedding the
fears in dark.
*
Now you will confront
yourself
to take revenge.
*
Like nocturnal
flight of a bat, to find
the mate on plum.
*
Hangs a tale of
a squirrel, waiting
for a Buddha.
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