Satish Verma Poems

For cloning of small gods
you took out the kidneys, lungs
and stomach, from slain truth’s
body. My bête noire, the lies.
...

The tears have washed my sins.
Taming the dead,
I start a vivisection
of myths.
...

Your insistence to become
something, to overstay existence
was not fair.
...

Let me douse this flame
with tears.
My nightingale will sing no more.
...

Happening?
you heave a sigh.
In peril, mother of peace?
...

Suckers of an octopus arm
entwine
like ziplocks
around a bleeding artifact,
...

Afraid of each other
we are hiding from farewell.
At stake was our nest,
you did not want to leave.
...

It was a taxidermal view
thousands of fawns on the lake.
Can you handle the die-off
of the whole truth?
...

Fearing the haze of ending
this body does not behave now.
Puppet show was over.
...

It was set on fire, the market place:
from a distance I was watching, the
hieroglyphic climate of the cutouts;
...