# #betrayal #life #forgivness #suffering #sadness #pain #mistakes #madness #poetry #broken


Satish Verma

On periphery of gestures and casts 
I speak for fading integrity while a fossil 
of a scream was stolen from the womb 
of language. 

On becoming silent, an untitled truth 
shakes sensibility. Small vignettes track 
the battleships of calligraphy. The sermons 
wage a war. 

The saints praised the puffed up sheep, 
suffered the asylum of Atlantic for astral 
hopes to cross the folds of virginity. Splashed 
motherhood refused the onslaught of tears. 

You make inadequate love, exiled in 
intimacy. Blood-drowned statements 
will not make to the surface of time. Century 
moves not for you, not for me, not for him.

Chronic Wait

Satish Verma

When a full moon was taking a bath 
by the serene lake, you moved about in 
abandoned identity, your sides flaring up. 

A slate gray nubion cloud was tossed 
around by a tall tree. Hotstepping you despaired 
to prevent a stillbirth of a genre 

in genocide of anonymous flora viberating 
in cyberscape of ominus sentences. The 
exhibitionist was taking over the podium. Petit mal 

brings the heels down of worshippers anointing 
a pair of sandals. Someone goes a non-linear 
fashion, denies the holocaust and howling. 

Hospice was needed for non-believers in any 
case. A continuum of exurbs intercedes in the 
slaughter of bovine names.

Beneath The Skin

Satish Verma

It was not a demigod, elephantiasis 
of a beast, snakes sitting on head. A catastrophic 

tree view.I was proud of being alive during 
carpet-bombing. A catnip was needed to clear 

the vision. The town was moving out shedding 
its landmarks. Nocturnal flares were disturbing 

the lovers. A chronic shift in sex starved 
season. The birds had stopped going behind 

the bushes. Each day seeks permission to bury 
the dead, and grass waits for the noble feet. 

Ultra hemo cover was not there. Drained out 
we were becoming pale to account for the loss 

of blood in cross-firing. Ultimate pain in chest 
will unburden the task of a funeral prayer.

New Version

Satish Verma

even vultures will not devour the proffered 
war time victims, ruined was the impression 
of untitled sacrifice, a wild anemone 

slips into the river of blood, I tend to forget 
the faces of embers – 

arson by apostles of peace, it has become a commodity, 

oppression releases a promise for optic illusion 
through large-prints 

a near miss when the truth chokes to death, 
suicidal full of nerves- 

the hills tremble in anticipation, lambs 
were dropping dead on a green patch 

such obligation

Private Moorings

Satish Verma

searching for words in continuum of 
incompleteness, it was a trickle at first, then 
a free fall, cerebral fury: I am becoming expansive, 
so apposed to verbatim of shrieks, only 

in whispers I will talk to delphiniums, 
I would walk inside the time capsule, come 
and sit besides me for a while, I am tired of 

this ghost town, and fleeing shadows of 
waning luminories on the horizon in 

half-naked blooms; on different shores 
U-boats are being lowered with torpedos. I am 

waiting for the hurricane


Satish Verma

When hope returns, will you be in 
alternative mind? 

Like a praying mantis brooding for a prey 
in a bowl of momentum while I have a 
sense of alienation collecting a cloud of 

Memories ripping open the gates of tears 
and blood for the human cost of dementia; 
the disorientation was not complete in 

Orthomolecular state, a suicidal visit will also 
not bring the diagnosis of pain and iridium hole 
of perception in a concentration camp for 
searching a bomber base, whether milk thistle 

Drags the fears out of the bodies and heals. 
I would not come back to hemiplegic wisdom 
of the land that was lost centuries back to 
occuping, omnipresent knowledge, the eagle 
had burned his wings in holy fire!

Unlost Existence

Satish Verma

When an embryo was growing in a petri dish 
I said this is it my adieu 
for I am now ready for a new journey of self denial 
a skull in my lap 
after the abdication of ancient fear 
the eyes of buttercups poked with hot iron rods 
a hoe breaking the neck of a bowed man 
to humanize an ugly beast 
my fragile hands make a cup to collect the light 
of a fading sun to pour on the stillness 
of the dream’s dark roaring 
that’s how a pinned butterfly becomes 
resigned for capitulation


Satish Verma

Mundane indulgence for a prlonged state 
of agony in truth of fake lies and synthetic tears, 

bloated rendition of angels; the hate crawls 
out from the ruins of time. I crave for the musical 

instruments left in the room. The song was inside 
the winds, became untouchable in obscene 

display of naked screams, the freedom of 
stones to kill the 

black roses for rivals. Somebody stages a 
comeback for toppling the victor. A viper 

is thrown at you in dark to deliver a message!

Santhara *

Satish Verma

When honeycomb started dripping, 
he stopped eating and climbed a sand dune 
for the last journey.Pall-bearers were ready 
for blunt futurism ceding to a deliberate defeat. 

Hunger was his turbulent empire, resting 
his hands on the shoulders of rocked time 
for the purification of greed and spurting desires. 
His only mechanical aid was his pen. 

Into the half century of geckoes getting rid 
of tails when a monkey was found in the stomach 
of a croc.Toons themselves spread out mocking 
the winter of hexagonal windows. Grey birds 

started melting on the burnt-out grasses. 
Lions walked on identical twins of nudes. 
A wet kiss of death ensured the beautiful 
ceasation. Yellow roses opened the frigid body. 

* A soulful ritual of Jainism when a person seeks death voluntarily and stops 
eating and drinking.