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

Charisma

Folder: 
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

Folder: 
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.

Lotus-Eating

Folder: 
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.

Unwashed By Sins

Folder: 
Satish Verma

Life had tossed you in 
flames. 
Like hearthstone, I sit 
deleting my colors. 

Time on black feet 
runs, on the sacred 
river bank. 

Molten lava will ask 
when, and from where 
the funeral procession will start. 

A hard core wants 
the evidence of rape. Two 
leaves will not cover 
the naked aggression.

The spooky game had 
become, ultimately- the biopic. Once 
angles used to roam 
on the burning coals.

Why Question Marks

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The milk run appears like 
flesh trade. A bigamous 
marriage with two ideologies. 

The politics looks like 
a fudged slogan. The silence 
was broken by screams. 

A dwindling faith, could 
not revive the ancient Buddha. 
There was no pity, no sorrow. 

Activism wades on home- 
turf. The colossal night 
releases the lynx vision. 

I am the cipher, you 
said, will not connect 
to any integer.

Not A Renegade

Folder: 
Satish Verma

The summer moon with 
poetry and musk. 
I waited full evening 
to become a coherent whole. 

I wanted to quit, like 
a Buddha, not to come back 
in the baked mud house 
where the sun would not break. 

The earthen lamp with 
a flickering flame, under the 
holy basil, wants to die 
before the moonrise. 

Paralysed lower limbs 
will make you sit like a god 
on the altar, deaf and dumb. 

You don't want to learn 
about the red lips of the goddess. 
Moon was bleeding heavily. 

Sit in a lotus position. 
Sky is going to fall.

Celebrating Dark

Folder: 
Satish Verma

I do not write about something 
or anything. You will 
not knock at my door.

I will be pained, if 
you sweep the floor, to 
tout the unwritten song. 

I sing wordlessly. Even 
the echo will open 
the waning wounds. 

My body, I give to 
hawks, to escape the 
elegies in the death well. 

Even the night 
will bring the pillow 
for the dying moon.

Chasing the Snipe

In love with 

the impossible

 

Chasing the snipe

 

dead ends;

cold cases

 

frustration abound,

 

married to insanity:

doing the same thing over and over again

and expecting different results

Chanced To Meet

Folder: 
Satish Verma

It was not, 
just a kiss of a zodiac sign. 
You had become a stranger 
between fight and flight. 

The trick was capricious. 
Albeit, a calligraphy 
on a bare tree, engrafting 
your name which keeps 
on growing with broadening trunk. 

You watch the sky 
at night and start a monologue. 
The stars were expanding, 
filled with grief. The 
despair of going back home 
in dark.