Satish Verma, 17 july 2019
The hesitant―
dawn cracks, as the
river of darkness squirms.
The moon―
was in last, to leave
the howling bank.
It looms large, a ―
brain-dead future. I think
I am forgetting my age.
You must face the
dying earth― sustained―
on prayers only.
This is the height
of dilemma. Why―
poems were hungry?
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Satish Verma, 16 july 2019
Outside, a discreet moon
was rising, breathing―
dark. I was wary of strange clouds
of unknown scents.
Like a blue absence of nothing,
from nothing to emptiness.
The religion of unspoken
prayers― I start the journey,
to void. From there a turbulence will begin.
Blinking eyes― will find
the answer to a no-question, at
the end of the conflict―
when the face is lost to sadness.
You will not take off
your shoes.
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Satish Verma, 15 july 2019
Something novel:
a good augury―
creeping to augment,
an esoteric fall.
I repeat the mistake of knowing too much.
Submodified. The man―
still wants to bite the tongue
on the name of truth.
It was very unpleasant
to see a hummingbird
becoming a sphinx.
No need to commit a suicide after homing,
to a blazing icon in the urn.
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Satish Verma, 14 july 2019
I will be kissing in proxy―
at the dark side of
the moon, where my twin crashed.
The cracks had emerged
in the fiery zone― the flames
reaching the zenith of blue, killer sky.
A tamed hematoma,
speaks― for the ripped open brain.
There was nobody left to be whole.
Survivors were the gift
of miracle. A saint starts
abusing the stars.
The god’s temple lies―
in ruins, buried under the sand,
debris and the dead faith.
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Satish Verma, 13 july 2019
A midnight darkness―
threatens the purple moon,
standing in awe.
There were two poems―
in your hands― which you
wanted to read in my face.
One for the asking―
and one for the moral defeat.
Do you have anything else to narrate?
A thunderbird makes―
a landing in my insomnia―
to scatter the dreams.
The insane world returns
the gift of the pagoda tree. Buddha
will not come back.
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Satish Verma, 12 july 2019
The reflection was never
complete.
I was trying, was trying
to understand me,
in absence of you.
Looking into the persona
making a saint―
out of sexual surrogacy.
The human gene―
transcripted, on the borrowed womb?
Will you now speak for the fear?
I will never know you
in dimlight―
of suspicions.
Are you a complete man now?
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Satish Verma, 11 july 2019
The space in between―
the mayhem and spiritual hour;
was not much, but a spitting image,
of swapping with sun bites― was
evident without remorse.
The ice storm was raging.
Blueberries hang from your
eyes, to bluff me. I draw the curtain
and lit the fire to bring in―
the bride of vengeance.
A charitable act, to clear
the needles from the doll: No black
magic will work now. I am clean
and pure, will not cut a
slice of breast, for the red milk.
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Satish Verma, 10 july 2019
I can do it, hold the wasp
in my palm― without grains
and short of fructose.
Layer by layer eggs
will leak― wetting
the vibrating stigma.
Neat abuses, will suck
the milk of nodding thistle.
No marrow comes out to save the elixir.
The hoofers, without
stirrups were running blindly
after the fallen apple.
The sage sways sadly
in the passive winds. It’s aroma
enters the stream of sex.
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Satish Verma, 9 july 2019
You should not be present―
everywhere, O God. Pull down,
all the shutters of your temples.
I am mortified, of a
hidden hand, that gives
spurious― sugar coated hymns.
A hometown crowd
assembles at the door of the―
palace to hear the arrival.
What was the natural
descent made of? A cyber attack
was the most desirable thing.
A crypt sets you free―
from the engraved sermons.
All night I will sit on the vigil, for a vision.
The book was blank
for a goodnight deal. I will
not cross any unwritten poem.
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Satish Verma, 8 july 2019
Eaten up, by wanderlust―
I started my sleepwalks
cheating my dreams.
The grace of knife was there...
it did not open in daylight.
Night was the brilliant host.
When do I meet you―
behind the moon― when stars
were not twinkling out of fear?
The rare gift of footnotes
was sufficient to explain―
the meaning of abstract pain.
You will not treat the stings―
very unkindly. They were
meant to awaken you from letting it go.
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