Underscoring

A distraught moon
takes a misstep
and goes behind the hill
to take a holy bath.

Disconnects
with a trespasser
and sends to night,
a bouquet of stars with muffled prayers.

Shades of lies haunt, in flames
of faith. A suicide bomber ploughs
through a playground, throwing the bits
of human pieces on nets.


Satish Verma

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Leapfrog

A frog leaps between your eyes.
The fear was intense-
and pain was possessive.

In besieged apples, there
was no forensic probe. Carnality
takes the back seat.

One dropp of honeydew destroys
the contours of hills. Moon
will wear the unseen costume.

The purple sand now sends
the topless marines to fight
with tender stings.

I am here, with an azure sky
to unfold the secret of dark flames.
O rose, send the bouquet.

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Star Struck

i, thirst for nudging
the butter lamp to peep inside
the dark of a Shiva crater
of human suffering,

between your pain and my blood
there was ancient history,
where will you go now, no
light has touched you so far

the moon takes a bath inside
a sleeping volcano of perfect
aches, staring in the sad eyes
of a fauna

brace your window and taste
your memory, lift the quivering hands
to welcome the blank pages
of future

Satish Verma

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Acoustics Are Not Working

Maimed, tortured for love of resistance
this night appears to be
without an end.
There was nothing to lose,
it was looking for some reason
to die on the side of a cloud
when the sickle moon was sailing.

Tomorrow a new lie will be born.
Even a suicide bomber
will be tossed around,
like a new coin.
Weaving a dress of skin and bones
in the little sky of so many
purple birds.

Acoustics are not working
walls have no doors.
By night only a torch will be moving.

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Democracy

To slice a hope in stark terror
he thought to bid holy goodbye
to destiny, and let himself go
in the shadow of weeping deads.

The orange moon looked mutilated.
Quietly stood a suicide bomber,
ready to get killed for a home in white heaven
and destroying the leaping stars.

Who had the blood on the hands?
Hiding in the white gown,
crossing the shelter, to dropp the guilt
on the road, never to look back.


Century of oppression, like baked blood
shines on the coffins of martyrs.
At dawn the pariahs promise to lead
the band towards democracy.

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Body Script

Does it stir you,
a body bag?
Journey of million years
stops here,
decoding the numbers.

A humming bird
inflight catches a dilemma
before the sun sets on the
whirring wings.
The moon will never be the same.

Hanging by a thread
a suicide bomber memorializes
the unhealing land.
Who will cry
when he is gone?

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Honey Mooner

There was a silky assault
by a gray cloud over the sickle moon
and I went crazy.


Moon said I will come again
for the glittering makeup
when the curtain are drawn.

Indelible tattoos on my breast
will haunt you whole night.
You must suck the stars meanwhile.

Come March, I will shower the
blue stains on your shirt.
It will remind you the number of nights
you slept with me.

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NAKED FREEDOM (A sequel to the massacre of 23rd Nov 09 in Philippines)

Intended to violate
the omnipresent,
stillness unzips the inviolate –
truth.

You walk through a legend:
To test the chastity
you need to dip your hand
in a very hot oil.

A sleepless summer night
descends on the hill
violins in dark
lie mutilated.

Hidden tracks will not tell
from where came the pattern
of enemies entering
the bloodied moon.


Satish Verma

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Outrageous

Everybody was half-naked on the trail
of curves. Braindead. Emptied thought.
A single vacant look.
“Why me? ” I ask. Stay stupid in the crowd. Looking
at the moon, indulgent. Plucking the nector from
knobs of naked flames.

No coming back from days of unknowing
the secrets of unskopen words. A cry stifles
in the throat of a prayer.

A moon was found on a dump!


Satish Verma

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Crossbars

The depression,
human brand was trapped.

They were talking about
the nukes.

To annihilate
the earth. It was elemental,

I said. An ardent
fan of moon.

A lark asks
who will survive?

Satish Verma

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Unending

In downy pink I watch you go
my sun,
at night you will pluck moon flowers.

In half-moon eclipse
the morning glory will wake me up
in dew, alighting whole night

on the rose branch. I still smell
your lips. The head aches in
singing dark.

Welcome again, my ghosts of new year.

Satish Verma

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Stoning Dark

What was the ethics of homefires
when homeostasis had gone awry?
There were no concrete truths.
I will not wear the lies instead
like fly ash on my bloodied shirt.

The old habits die hard;
the beds of flesh and bones, carry the
strange innocent meanings of heavy
eyelids which could not beat the silk
of green eyes of a sun.

A miracle was needed to undo the
thighs of mermaid who went to sleep on the
rocks of jealousy. The sky-blue flames
rise again from the navel of infidel love
who had inherited the golden moon.


Satish Verma

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Meltdown

Unveiled,
the moon will find you
after morose beginning
of becoming – me

Homophobia creeps in,
beyond the condemnation,
the incompleteness.

You walk straight in the arms
of contradiction, confusion
smearing the wall
with your crimson, nihilistic words.

Every other person
a demi – god
stands on your fears, sends whispers
down your ears.

To abdicate the colleagues
of dawn.

SATISH VERMA

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Unborn

you enter the lair again
dun – colored
shrapnel was on your lips

to hear your truth I lay down
the book
and look beyond the acid rain
falling after the explosion

the yellow flames still lapping
against the crater walls
jasmines were alive

dented memories wer climbing
on hills before you can unsee
the moon bleeding to death


Satish Verma

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The Wars

It is.
An explosive denial
of an infinite firmness
of round orbs.

Why were you taking
off your shirt
to show the scars?
it stirs a sequestered allegation.

The glare was on my days
and your nights.
The suicide bomber was
a kid, you know.

When a poem leaves you,
how far would you go to kill
a blue jay
for the golden cage?

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Juggling

Standing in a milk line you were
talking of depravity, of blood lines
and the breast enhancement.

A teenage fringe bomber wants
to sew the civil society and explodes
himself before the empty bakery.

A young gal throws her son
from the ninth floor and then jumps
to get the justice from indifferent god.

Can we talk and wash away our
guilt? Crossing the river was
not enough, we need drinking water.

Bits of human flesh are plastered
on the walls. The death wears a
face of daddy to kill the times.

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Toxic

A toxic tongue laps the ocean
and fish goes to sleep at bottom.
I do not know from where to start.
A distraught candle flickers.
The blast victim was pregnant and
the foetal head got severed off in womb.

There were big holes in intelligence.
Raw fledgling. The evil existed
in every room. I was not able
to open a single door.

Because they were blind,
taking roots in soil of ancestral graves
on the name of god,
throwing blue stars
in the eyes of believers.

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Vibrations

The battlelines were drawn.
While drinking the sun
I set myself ablaze

A hooded dilemma
of his kindness
starts boiling in chaotic dissonance.

A backlash stops a self-search.
Who am I and why do I belong
in the spinning of descent.

There were flames in every home
and biting dust of the moon.
Where the man will go.

The birth’s print and death’s answer
had the bidding game.
I was standing in the middle.


Satish Verma

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Footprints In Dark

Diplomacy of inconstancy
unmeets the urgency. Aura
of brilliance was falling in your feet.

After the death, it was not a name,
only a frozen body.We moved backward
swiftly, to find out the footprints in dark.

Winter was becoming harsh and
less meaningful. A weak muscle brokers
a peace for dewdrops on rose petals.

I become an earlier story, failed.
Pick up the moon rocks
and start throwing them at sun.

Satish Verma

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Half By Half

Half the night for you
half the night for me
in between,
when we are going to light our lamps?

A clock is ticking away
time elopes with stars.
When the gametes meet
a spark will chuckle in dark.

Tonight I am going to open my wrists
throwing the lines in water.
Take care of the lineage
flesh eaters are moving.

A pink rose looks at me
like moon in a honeycomb.
It was bittersweet, hurting, kissing
the thorn in my thumb.

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Let Me Go Into Snow

Audacity to live with your demons,
putting up a fake love belief,
who was the time,
of that dark night? Distinctly alive to what
I was not just putting up the shades of death
into nothingness of peace in war.

Searching for self in capacious hope,
was it the half-light of a moon,
slipped on the words of a hoisted grief?
A wild truth was better than silken ribbons
of fabricated lies. I am tired of playing
games on the turf of synthetic desires.

It would be time again, for what was time,
encapsulated in crazy dialogues of taking on
a chaste enemy. I will give my life for
a bright red rose in absence of sun, drenched
in fire and burning in dew drops, for the
flowering of melting snow.

Satish Verma

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