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

Losing The Vision

Satish Verma

I left a piece of moon on my 
table and started writing about 
the broken mirror. There was a time 
when we used to cry together. 

Dusting off the old books, uncared 
for months. A rare ritual 
defines the motion. It was the 
temblor giving me a dustbath. 

Do you know who was the leader 
of the pack? The greed, the authority? 
There was a bright door, between 
the umbels. Would you taste the hemlock? 

Every thing is in disorder. You 
remember how cranky I was when 
I found you unframed. Today 
I will embrace the empty wall.

Dutch Door

Satish Verma

Moving among the glittering- 
crowns, as in glaciated valley. 
once again, in capital of grief. 
I am folding the twilight. 

The viciousness of the hisses, zooms, 
once you sleep on the bed of silence. 
A blue light cuts you half. 
I survive on the black tongues. 

The assault was imminent now. 
Flat foots will invade the afterthoughts. 
The incline was treacherous- 
You cannot climb up, nor down. 

Give me a haiku after the sun. 
There was no night work left and- 
I am plotting not to kill myself. 
I will burn an empty bark.

Some Ghosting

Satish Verma

Hunting calm, without 
a kill, without a 

A momentary lapse 
and you suffer 
for centuries. 

The pangs of separation 
were rising.No birth. 
You become a white mausoleum. 

And the ancient 
bloodshed will take care 
of the pearls in your eyes. 

Ask the moon 
to lift the veil.Bonfires 
of sharp pains have begun. 

The halo around 
your face quivers.I was 
not a god.You were not mortal.


Satish Verma

Do not sleep, as libido 
Moon will visit 
the shrine of love today. 

It was an end of the- 
lone journey. You recover 
the path of lost poem. 

A river lies buried in 
my chest, unawakned. 
Would you kiss the stone today?


Satish Verma

Trying to quantify the vices 
in you, I am becoming 

Going my own way. 
I join the migration 
of invisibles. 

A plucked tiger lily 
roars. Amphibians were ready 
to invade the mountain. 

The curled fingers 
had become question marks. 
Blindness had become a bliss. 

Inlaid in the redwood 
lies my blood. I lived under 
the branches, naked, carefree.

Foetus Was Not Moving

Satish Verma

The mood-lifters 
you will need, when 
night falls and the poems 
start howling. 

The crisp massacre 
of golden dreams, and you 
start disposing off the defunct philosophy. 

The myths of heaven 
and hell, causing the colossal 
anxiety.A dog walks past 
a dead body, near the burned temple. 

This is the world apart, where 
you opened the book for 
an eye hole.Then you suck the images. 

The pebble in the pond 
starts moving.No water was left 
to wash the dirty idols.


Satish Verma

The caterpillar on the lawn― 
in the name of god, 
eating away the copper, 
the blue veins of thighs. 

Barefoot I come to wish 
you farewell. You must stand― 
in the decaying woods, 
to pronounce me dead. 

The auburn fawn climbs on 
the podium, to mimic a birdsong. 
It was sloth time. Moon was 
away and it was dark. 

The eagle swoops on tiny 
breasts, popping up from the 
nest of muse. There were no 
feathers and no beak left.

Secret Whereabouts

Satish Verma

Deck is empty, today: - 
physics of life unfolds. 

I know you less now, what 
I knew you earlier. 
A cloud city after the collision 
had become distraught, after taking 
a dip in mudslide. 

With chainsaw I am cutting 
myself. Why not to become a fossil 
with imprints of the collapse― 
of our culture and education, in 
coal pits of ancient times? 

The body has hardened, bones 
twisted in agony, I grab the window, 
to pull in the sun. Only 
the eyes will shine in dark.


Satish Verma

A repeat lover, 
moon comes back 
every night in different robes. 

It was a question 
of your conscience, when 
you were being eaten alive. 

Hyenas will come again- 
to unearth the bones, to 
give you the message. 

Remaining poor was a great 
bliss.You don't 
need to pay for anything. 

The hunger goes deep. 
Fathomless.Your eyes roam 
in search of a face after the hanging. 
Was he smiling? 

You hanker to touch 
the eyes, which were burning 
like coals.