28 June, 2017


Strangly enough―
it was the most silent night…
I hear the footfalls
of your absence.

There was no affair
between you and me. Only the flames
of frost I was born with. Blue
roses still keep a ritual
of counting the deaths.

I didn't touch you. The
placenta still dragging the neon
light of the womb, the
sins lay bare.

The land mines exploding
one by one. Maimed truths speak
of the communion
with unseen gods, who will not come out
in the courtyard.

Satish Verma

It Is

Telling a big no
was easier than conveying
one painful truth.

The hollyhocks come
back again, after the storm.
It was a religion.

Finding happiness,
when you are alone in
darkness of the noon.

Satish Verma

27 June, 2017

For Whom The Sky Weeps

You stop at the brink, 
to flirt with the rim of
the lake.

Reading yourself in water
you wanted to defang
the life.

The blood berries expose
the guilt of the moon.
Would you sit at the bottom

of the bay and become
a doer? The white cobra waits
till you are paralyzed.

The lovers go crazy
baiting a god, to unleash
the trapped tempter.

A conflict between a
prey and the bottle. You
do not want to live in luxury.

Satish Verma

From Suicidal Angle

You become a crimson
dusk in a sea of greens.
The cost of the murder
had increased.

With lock and key you
can enter a new era of
and misquotes.

The fertility cult skips
the gravel, catches hold
of thighs and climbs
the fame.

Healer was in great
despair. Grape seeds were
ready to sell the garden
of honeysuckles.

Oh novice, don't go alone
in the war-zone of suicide―
bombers. They were looking for
the witch in breaches.

Satish Verma

26 June, 2017

Snaky Paths

In deafening silence
I was hearing you,
trying to taste and smell
the traces left by you.

Choosing between hope
and despair, I gather
the old coins. There was no
clue to understand the movement of shadows.

Earth is melting into
water. In rapt attention I
watch the footdrop, of placenta.
It will be a stillborn moon.
No honey, no elixir.

In a deadpan approach,
you will not communicate the
death sentence for echoes.
I will not take the side of inevitable.

Let the book start
burning the poems.

Satish Verma

Coming Face To Face

When a gravedigger
the impasse ends.
A robot turns on the rains.

With horror, you release
the doves to reach for
olive branches for peace.

Paraplegic, the horse
will not run― on hawthorns.
King was decapitated.

You talk to your seers
sleeping six feet down in earth
to explain the genocide―

of unborn fathers, when
they were praying
headdown for downpour.

Satish Verma

24 June, 2017


Forever the rituals
of hate and love continue.
The sun survives the feet.

You cannot run. It
disconnects you. There was
no beginning, no middle
no end.

Shapeless, unborn figures will
decide the fate of seeds. You
were sowing the bones.

Pulling out the head
of a terrorist from the rubble,
sometimes you forget―

the contours of the enemy.
Existentially you wanted to crack
open the psyche of man.

It was a blue parable.
Do you believe in utopia?

Satish Verma