18 August, 2017

Falling From A Precipice

In a chilly moment
a metaphysical shadow

I start studying in
granular detail, the substance―
cause and knowing.

The terrible. I become
an executioner; climb down
a tar pit to drown
the skulls of peers.

Everything goes in
circinate mode. A ball
of spines. You bleed,
you ache.

I want to go before
a firing squad, for not
remaining innocent.

Satish Verma

In Sadness

It was a non-beginning.
You were there.
How much do you know
about this aggression, when
the emperor was getting
ready for self-destruction?

The heat of a bullet breaks,
the alien chest. I grab the
soft music of heartache―
and release the waterbirds.Now
the eyes will see the―
dawn of mind, and my little
dust will fly over the blue blood.

A man covers his mouth
with a strip of cloth.
He wants to talk to a laughing Buddha.

Satish Verma

17 August, 2017

Replying To Myself

Roping in, as if―
all my defeats, creating―
a tiara for a royal fall.

Being hurled
towards the enormous black hole,
chased by the sun.

Like an old thinker
I was putting myself in a
violent comet's pathway.

Not being a whole religion
why did I worship a walking stone?

How would I communicate
with my destiny?
I was not born a shining star.

An individual becomes,
an androgyne, unsure
to name the gender.

I am going to honour the talent.

Satish Verma


In shadow of moon―
amidst banal, repeated answers,
you take a shot.

Moment of truth―
dissembles, the religion
of fear and kill. I hear

a sea of daffodils
going wild.
After the aching, The vision is lost.

You revert to bind
alleys. Between faith and hope
flickering light waits.

You stir and churn,
breach the obscene party
and go for a god.

Satish Verma

16 August, 2017

Tortured Times

You wanted him alive.
To witness the evolution of
man into beast.

Hounds start yowling,
one after the other―
in dark.

Why do I break the coconut to―
celebrate the death of a god?

It was that simple as
an orchird opens its bizarre labellum
to trap the sun.

A paperweight against
an argument, shatters the window.

The bluebird
refuses to sing.

Satish Verma


On the run,
was a bon viveur―
in amber thoughts.

I start unknowing you―
O invisible. A curse
will follow if you make me
a god.

I plead, standing
on the rubble, I will not learn
to live without the muse.

Sometimes you disappear
unshorn, in the rain forest―
of stunning phrases.

I hold,
the existence of a ghost.
Undying for the sake of
forced acceptance.

That was the art of inevitability.

Satish Verma

15 August, 2017

Made On Earth

You by yourself,
will become me―
one day.

I am standing―
lone, with
body planet.

The intrinsic design―
of ampersand
falters. And

partition of soul
begins. The mutation
from the dust to schism takes place.

Where tears cannot
reach, the poem
will carry the message.

Satish Verma