Satish Verma Poems

Ready to dismember the red geraniums
rains had no mercy.
Thunder did not show any preference
and hails had felled the pride
...

For little grains of truth,
listening to intuition
he disrobed – and walked into river
to die.
...

This is it, I want to say.
An acid rain falling each evening
and you, reading a poem
surrounded by flame – attendants.
...

Hunger comes back like a dagger
on face. With iris and fingerprints.
Live, fluttering butterflies, stuck
on lampshades. Wrecked, frozen, the ending
...

And how shall we trace the
trajectory of a lungless scream
coming out of a slit throat?
Time was overrun by gnostic
...

Me and my pride,
me and my hurts.
Who are you, which you are not,
a verbless statement of nirvana?
...

After the rain wets the ground,
a damp, naked silence,
floats in air
on the wrong side of the moon.
...

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.
...