Satish Verma Poems

Will the shouts work
on blood seeds in climate of conflicts?
Winter was shrinking.
...

Ashes:
I was gathering blue light
from your lynx-eyed vessel
of death.
...

Tonight
when I come back
clad in wounded memories,
one seed deep
...

He returned empty hands.
Death was casually running around
on charred bodies.
...

After the weep there was blankness,
then he started playing with fire
for existence, of a rain
which refused to shower.
...

Alone to witness the crash I
invited the moon to walk with me
on the harsh terrain
...

A solid belief of karmic influence becomes
fluidus
but life was questioning again.
...

A randon creation
convulsed by grief.
Death of a pendant was not able
to recall the cleavage.
...

A detritus
of malaise, tugs at my solitary hour.
There was a question of stature
amongst the old fractured feet.
...

You catch what was convenient
for age of denial. The exit.
Not being for nothing,
a better half of a belief.
...