Satish Verma, 26 october 2022
Don't give words to
thoughts. Terror begins.
Your painful past turns to future,
of live skeletons.
What life will give to me,
when I am getting
ready for long journey?
Collecting peacock
blue to write your name
on the trunks.
Moon nods,
I ask for a favour to
make me sleep in moonless night.
The silence speaks
in humility. Nothing was left
to have a meaning.
From the temple deity
disappears.
Satish Verma, 25 october 2022
Not afraid of any
wrath, I was quiet at the
end of beginning to hold on.
Won't squeeze,
if you bring me to flames
to track the grace of
a dying sun.
Inappropriate―
a queer look of the moon, when
the eyes were dead and
lips were moving.
Venus explodes
in the spirit of eternal star.
There was no philosophy of
daring fire. It was very cool.
The queen cobra
raises its hood to strike
the milky way for
raising the lust.
Satish Verma, 24 october 2022
The yellow rose
looks like having the same
genome as that of you.
Bending like a stem
of weeping willow.
I will leave
before dawn, when the Venus
prepares to become
Joan of Arc.
The fog sits in
your eyes. A blue veil
covers the contours of
flickering tears.
At the window
the moon waits for
final call of sun to leave
the dominion of light.
A bulge wants to leave
the shadows of broken walls.
Satish Verma, 21 october 2022
Dying inside, every
day, inch by inch, to save
the silent lips.
Only the moon will see
the weird verbalism of
a narrative.
We are the gypsies,
restless, homeless― traveling
in the shadows of stars.
The act was
suicidal. You were always
talking to wind that
would never listen.
Trick of game
was frivolous. You would
sleep in moonlight alone.
The gossips morphed.
You were an angel without
wings, wandering on hills
crying.
Satish Verma, 20 october 2022
Would you become
my plaque one day?
Unknowingly, unspoken?
Blue poppies will come
without footfalls and kiss
the dust of memory lane.
We will cry together,
unopening the lesions,
between the flesh and bones.
The essence drips in―
the flask, drop by drop.
Reading the urns of pain,
to be buried alive.
The search of other
moons will not start till
the spell of unknown
deity breaks.
The migration ends.
Blackbirds were coming home.
Satish Verma, 19 october 2022
Amygdala gives you
space. Rage implodes.
Hottest day gives a blast.
Burn, burn, O leaky
night. You suck the moon
with dust. Language
slips.
How will you invite
rains, without nightingale,
who had left for a
quantum revenge?
Visuals haunt. Ash
will fly. An old touch comes
back. Everything looks blue.
I start collecting old coins.
Satish Verma, 17 october 2022
Feeding the mouth
of fire with tribal love.
My contextual wait―
for the pledge begins.
You come as an
accused, wearing the
veil of moon to explain―
the vanishing act.
The purple nails
scratch the scented skin
to bring out the red,
flowing love.
If you become
beautiful in praise of
moment, I will bring
the burning moth.
The vicious bell rings again.
Satish Verma, 16 october 2022
Unlearning my life,
you ought to become a poet
in the dominion of words.
Wade the cool waters.
Your concepts become clear
I will give you a call from the boat
in deep sea.
Ah, this was embryonic
pain to bear the rape of truth.
This poverty's debt will
never be paid back.
Too far, the horizon
sinks in the arms of moon.
The condensed tears will―
read their own story.
The contours of broken
life will change.
Satish Verma, 15 october 2022
One eyed closed
I would never know you.
Tormented― you have
to come out of your skin.
Time-lapses backward.
I draw the boundary
on sands to invite the invisible.
I know you would never come.
I shake hands with moon
in green valley of begonias.
There is no roof, no sky.
Only colored foliage of dreams.
Like deaf and dumb weavers
singing an autumn song.
Cuckoo will sing no more.
Tapestry was badly ruined.
Do butterflies laugh?
Satish Verma, 14 october 2022
To get a feel of
love for the jinx, unwrapping
the gift of dying.
I will not touch you, but
will catch your voice
and stop aging.
Come anonymously at
dusk and light the moon.
I will wait for you in dark.
Who was the criminal
in giving away the skin
of black moments?
One day behind the moon,
I will meet you
somewhere in storm.
At the centre
of gravity lies the ignominy
of black hole. Come and
let's make new stars.
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