24 March, 2017

When The Attack Comes

Like a tantric I will
gather you and make you sleep
in my eyes.

In lantern festival, I
will be fighting dark
with hundred wicks.

The dead will come
back to talk about their
amputated thumbs.

You had no bona fides
to tell me how blue were
my aches.

I don't find any metaphor
in this qualified decay,
wiping my glasses to see clearly.

Satish Verma

The Hidden Sky

In my sanctum,
you walk in― like
my first child, to join
my innerness.

Trying to decipher―
the moral code of angels.
I just wanted an embrace
of a flame to kiss the sparks.

I hear your footsteps,
sometimes near, sometimes far away―
in the valley of burning tears.
This space and, a gouge hold the
secret of melting lips.

Still unborn, a voice in
cul-de-sac, waits for the grievers
to open the darkness―
for a ray of light. It was very
lonely where you had scripted the clouds.

Satish Verma

23 March, 2017

Sketches In Coal

Where sand becomes
silver, you cower
under a palm.

A birch tree
beacons you to write
the fall of man.

All day you wait
for a miracle.
It never happens.

This autum, I will
worship a naked tree.
A toast for dying moon.

Satish Verma

Silence Speaks Loudly

It weeps ritual.

A spiritual walk
on the spikes. Heartache
to meet life daily.

Shadows beat
on the floor. You wanted
to catch the sun
in water filled vessel.

No silver king,
no coins.
You would never worship
the riches.

Forest of protests
grows. Journey steeps
in pain.

You come close to edge,
fall, rise, stand erect
to face the dark.

Satish Verma

22 March, 2017

Nothing Happened

Talking off the runway
moon― being you, a
gut feeling takes over.
You will not stay overnight.

Not cool enough, I was
learning in your calm, becoming
lynx-eyed shooter―
from panther.

Juggling the phrases,
the meltdown begins. A
bridge collapses. Stampede.
Mass panic. The train will
not come today.

Let's go and walk in a
sunflower field. Do you― love
Van Gogh? His studies?
‘A Starry Night ‘ and his interpretation
of self-violence.

Rest of life. I am going
to walk with a hurt.

Satish Verma

Lips And Wordless Miracle

What if the sword
leaves and purple eyes
of Iris become apocalyptic?

It would be for me― the arrow,
leaving from the arched
bows of goddess of rainbow.

Wearing a tiara, of
golden lotuses, in eerie morning
the sun was rising.

Dawn commits a
genuine sin. Wakes me up
to dig the past for bones of faithless truth.

The silent ocean has
a job to do. Turn me blue in
iced mercy without any smile.

Baked and browned, the
priest, marries a virgin to a ghost.


Satish Verma

21 March, 2017

With Apologia

Nothing other than,
he was hearing―
screams!

Nude was not au
naturel, like
a new born chick.

Half-mumbling,
half-clad,
he walked bare foot.

Giving away the
canvas, you are
blissfully happy.

Satish Verma