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

The Sorcery

Folder: 
Satish Verma

I can do it, hold the wasp 
in my palm― without grains 
and short of fructose. 

Layer by layer eggs 
will leak― wetting 
the vibrating stigma. 

Neat abuses, will suck 
the milk of nodding thistle. 
No marrow comes out to save the elixir. 

The hoofers, without 
stirrups were running blindly 
after the fallen apple. 

The sage sways sadly 
in the passive winds. It’s aroma 
enters the stream of sex.

Negation Of What

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Living, 
in the wounds, 
like a gas dragged into 
the black hole. 

Bedeviling the light. 
There are no winners in this war. 
Corona will not sit 
on any head. 

There was ambivalence 
in the robust thrust. 
The hard x-rays will 
burn the thoughts. 

Do not go on chasing the 
grazed genre. The style 
will bring back the questions 
which had no answers.

Karmic Influence

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Under surveillance, the vegetable― 
lives on ventilator. 
All doors were shut― for the 
dark― to remain inside. 

The spastic breathing with― 
rising chest, delivers the 
nuances of death. Are you 
sure― it was easier to live? 

Asking the destiny to wait― 
at the door. You can write 
your own epitaph― 
on the dust― for posterity. 

I am coming home to collect― 
your letters― you were 
writing to me daily― but 
never dared to post.

Against Nobody

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Do you need a divine witness― 
if I abdicate a claim 
on you, saluting the dark? 

Drawing the ire of a void, 
the violence becomes visible― 
when earth starts dying. 

The completeness― will give 
you a rude welcome― after 
you were landuishing in wait. 

An intern surrogacy― 
defies the sexual assault of the 
gimmick. Why did not you 
swear in the moon? 

In jitters. I start― 
making circles again― and again. 
Will I remember― 
who am I?

A Paragon

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Like a starfish― you are 
not a star, always opening 
the shells― with your tube fest 
to find the pearls. 

Predator― you will attack 
in a crowd― when it is dark― 
coming out of your skin. 

Flesk for flesh. It was your dynasty. 

I cannot reconcile. I cannot 
play the game of chess― 
and checkmate the opponent. 
Will wait for a nemesis. 

Unorthodox. The nature 
reveals its move― in the galaxies. 
The earth is in― 
mid-life crisis.

The Right Moment

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Tell me, 
how would you die 
when the call comes? 

A hollow skin― 
with no viscera― underneath. 

Will you cry― 
while breaking away from the earth― 
carrying your own urn? 

Elysian vision― 
was not very clear 
and Styx was full of bodies. 

There was no space left 
to celebrate the liberation. 

A parchment paper 
with your fading name printed; 
after the petition of right 
to exist, undying 
in deeds.

Toxicity

Folder: 
Satish Verma

First listen to your heart. 
No poetry will walk tonight― 
without fear. 

Sometimes you will find― 
words will not descend/to heal 
your ache of unslept poems. Hovering/ 
like the obsessive hawks. 

The migratory, adjutant/ 
storks, had not come to roost 
on the tall tree― 
naked as they are. 

Democracy always/sends 
erotica/to take off your mind 
from the trivial subjects. 

Fireworks resume the celebrations 
for the fugitive/who returned 
home after drinking absinthe.

Take Up Your Book

Folder: 
Satish Verma

After the apocalypse, 
the fiefdoms were growing― 
buttercups― with golden flowers, 
cupshaped. 

Anemones and hellebores/ 
aconites and clematises/ 
famed for making lethal― 
poisonous seeds. 

So much went through us. 

A billion years after― there will be 
no life/ on earth. But we 
have become lifeless now― 
the poems incomplete. 

It was getting smaller― 
and smaller― the tall man.

Irony Of Gist

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The finger and a ring― 
a story of bonhomie; 
if you live precariously. 

Difficult when you are perceptively nimble. 

I would like to take off― 
any clinger. 

If you live in a crate, ― 
there is no escape. 
The pollination has stopped. 

The washed bees will not go anywhere― 
in this rain. 

The bumbler will strike 
when you are eating the poem.