# #betrayal #life #forgiveness #suffering #sadness #pain #mistakes #madness #love #Friendship

No Demagogue

Folder: 
Satish Verma

This was not a witch 
or witchcraft, striking 
a pose to entice the sleep. 

The grass will not― 
listen the earthly 
eavesdropping on moon. 

Some extra neutral 
wine for a resilient poet 
who will refuse to die. 

My color was not black 
nor white. It had the 
golden hue. 

Your nails were very sharp 
digging for a *Digambra 
on my bare chest.

Dog Days

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Why do I give you the bliss― 
of my poverty? 
The burden of asking, was light. 

Not like the unquenchable 
thirst of a desert. I will be a 
night blooming cereus. 

In exile, I will remember 
your sky, tying the stars in 
my poems, to recall your shades 
when the moon moves away. 

The sunlight throws the voiceless 
profiles of clouds, motionless 
suspended, waterless― dead. 

There is no traffic, no history 
of any scandles. The corners of 
my prayer book have― 
become dog-eared.

Sting's Betrayal

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Not settled anytime 
between a beast, an angel and the man: 
who was indebted to whom. 

A cyclic ritual it was, to pay the debt 
to the eternal dancer, who 
was, harbinger to catastrophe. 

Not wanted to be judged. 
Fatherless, a shadow moves― 
in the womb of justice. 

Why do the moon was in distress? 
A catmint will improve― 
your vision. 

No artificial insemination was― 
needed. The pungent smell 
would put you off. 

A taste of triangle, lying 
next to the moon 
in bed of water.

A Fracas Goes On

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Remarkably steadfast, the 
mighty oak was standing up, as 
the thick rain was pounding at it. 
I had come a faraway to unleash 
the tenacity. 

The flesh and the moon. 
It was the anniversary of ropes 
and shackles. You should not have 
adored the distant dreams 
without touching them. The transcript 
was not ready. No template 
was perfect. 

I would not know most of you. 
That was a bliss. In blue and dark― 
I will sail for nothingness. No more, 
no less. The chirping, synchronized trill 
of crickets, encourages to stand still, I listen 
without hearing. 

I have come back to zero.

Sheer Expanse Of Tragedy

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Staring into nothingness― 
the body clicks. 
Smells the pungent fumes and/ 
cedes the suspension of tears. 

Quenchless, you drink 
the white phosphorus, glowing 
in dark, of 
stark reality. 

The barrenness will put 
up a Harappan seal, 
to come back. 
The stomata bleed. 

The blue salt was naïve. 
Will not leave the ocean. 
You cannot swim, 
you cannot drown.

Frost Was Setting In

Folder: 
Satish Verma

No moon tonight 
I had to find― 
my path along the hedges 
by fireflies. 

The river was in haze, 
not wearing any scent. 
Some invisible hands were 
rowing a boat in midstream. 

At this time a god jumps― 
in, to sort out the memory of dark nights. 
Not dementia. But I will 
try to remember your face in moonlight. 

Once I had lost my way 
to your home. Now my 
home has lost me for ever.

Matter Of Fate

Folder: 
Satish Verma

While ascending throne, 
you cover up your tracks― 
by putting up the somber demeanor. 
I don't find myself happy. 

No stings visible. The world 
is savagely beautiful, always 
indulging in finding a goat. 
Can you see through a person? 

Wooden legs cannot take you very― 
far. What you need was your intent, 
to scramble and make a kill 
of a subtone. 

The crowd goes in a tizzy. 
Tortoise in a bag, was moving 
faster than the man.

Blood Stained

Folder: 
Satish Verma

For a long time 
I will look at you 
to find my image. 

In the grainy morn― 
the frivolity, 
dithers. 

Thrown from the roof 
a cluster of flowers 
for vanity.

Vendetta

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Brown eyes: 
little things― 
I ask from you. 

This is the holy land, 
you can walk, without 
offering anything. 

I will not surrender 
an alter ego 
for a price. 

The walls scoop 
the shadows 
for future skin. 

A small pilgrimage 
for the 
dying god. 

It hurts when 
my lips will not touch 
the flame.