Satish Verma Poems

In my soreness and
shadow, the poem speaks. In bleached
eyes, you burn without sparks.
...

You were trying to become
the truth Can I become a god of stones?
It was a clear faith in Satan.
...

In a charred house of
love, I smell night-scent and I
wonder, if hazy moon will ever look down.
...

This life has sunk
too low. You want to go in disguise
after the hawk disheveled.
...

Simple hearted priest
asks me to stay dead. The mystery
of living in the eyes of God is unveiled.
...

I am selling my age.
Going stone in market. Honestly
I have exhausted my thoughts.
...

I am nowhere, living
in an urn. A feeling goes unwritten,
becomes a myth. My innocent body.
...

That vertical sink
loaded with cargo
fraught,
with pools of blackened blood
...

After a soot rain
the grey fear moved centripetally, seeking centrum;
thoughts, saffron colored, in the words
went mute.
...

The flesh was putting up a brave dialogue.
I was willing to play the game.
Stunned, shocked, pleasantly sore
basking in heat of silk throat,
...