Satish Verma, 17 march 2020
The shadows sit,
under the words, to torture,
to bring,
perse memories.
A downfall,
precedes,
before the crash of
existence.
Ah, you know,
what makes your saints
blue? The sematic shooting
stars?
The anxiety was,
how to stop thinking
of becoming,
a vigilante.
The mid-night raid
was most unsuccessful attempt
to rape.
Satish Verma, 16 march 2020
The cells,
climb the fame,
unperceived.
A bit of nose, blue eyes,
jugglery of stances.
You catch the body art.
The eagle
dives, for a legal kill.
Hail, the beautiful
execution.
To shut the voice,
you bring in, snow,
white blanket for every
one deprived.
Satish Verma, 15 march 2020
A mystical dialogue
in swirls-
to drown you.
Blank pages draw you
for a suicide, without
moving your bones.
A thin worded threat
to conceive a sculpted
dream, deranging
your sea of
cadavers.
No dissecting table
you need to solve the death.
All the arguments are tilted.
You will rig the answers.
They will come
in bunches, to beat you.
You will not hear or see anything.
Satish Verma, 14 march 2020
Like today.
I walk myself, in my footprints
tasting grassiness
sending the runners,
on the anniversary, of the brain's death,
when no deliverer was in sight.
The empty chairs in black rain
wait for the parted windows
to let in the screaming light
for a reunion, with the children
of tongue, who were lost
in wilderness of vows.
Looking at the world
from a keyhole, at an unearthly hour
you viusalize a miracle,
to heal the blood apart, wounded
grains of golden dawn, a mother
thrashing for charred hunger.
Satish Verma, 13 march 2020
Was it kosher to wake
up a sleeping poem, when
someone has burned the book?
A rite of passage
between the poppies?
The soaked swans
were not ready to accept
the challenge of the defining moment.
A smart moon walks
behind me, snooping around the pines,
to drink the brazen lips.
Why small girl walks on the snow
to get the blessing
of the bells?
Satish Verma, 12 march 2020
You were shrinking
like microcephaly,
the mankind's evolution
in expanding universe.
The new thoughts-
do you think we were
always talking nonsense.
The real tragedy was
here, in your hands
when you held the
gun.
The lead in water,
and arsenic in earth.
Like celebrating the man's
victory on space and time.
Satish Verma, 11 march 2020
In-between the spaces
body moves
untouching you.
A poem crashes
on the tongue. You
will not confess.
The wordless thoughts
swim like swans
noiselessly.
Unreaching the abode,
you will invent a god
for a knifed boat.
The sea is turbulent,
you will still sail,
not to reach anywhere.
Satish Verma, 10 march 2020
Poised to confront
the improvised explosive device
of winds,
good moonday
stands
in melting snow.
Church was
unselling the sex.
Satish Verma, 9 march 2020
Between the hope and
betrayal lies the truth-
a terra cotta version
of time.
A vitrified china will
not reflect your face.
You search the word's
tragedy, in a wound's
profile.
A speaking book repeats
the sermon.Do not
go after the questions.There
are no answers.
Prepare for the last rites
of porcelain.Only the plastic mind
knows the reality.
Satish Verma, 8 march 2020
Night comes like a
black dog
around the corner.
I start paying off the debt
cry for cry, with a
ceremonial sword,
cutting off the shadows
falling from the
distant hills.
My questions are burning―
on pyre. How did I fail myself?
Why some mercy
was unacceptable to me?
Standing in midstream
I let go your hand,
and drown in quick sand of thoughts.
Now a poem will
lift me from the ruins.
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
