Satish Verma Poems

A midnight craft
dumps the moon
on a heap of deceits.
I ask my sap to turn back for truism.
...

All night November,
I was searching the vulnerable
lips after loosing you.
...

Bending the forked-stick to find
underground water ―
and immortality of thirst.
...

Can you see the smoke
coming from
the brick kiln?
...

Can your words find the color
and smell of a manslaughter
in an unholy stampede?
...

The night calling. I start
the search for survivors.
A loquacious day shuns
the clouds.
...

Blue poppies were poised
to meet the regret of thighs,
mother of sins.
...

The dead sea
and the naked soul.
You are not worthy
of forgiveness. The smell
...

The dew on your -
lashes. Did the moon kiss
you in sleep?
...

Do you know the pain
of somebody on the road,
freezing alone? In Asperger syndrome?
...