Satish Verma Poems

A severed head sits upright on mud floor
coruscating in moonlight. It was a meditating
Buddha with eyes downcast after a perfect death.
...

Difficult it becomes, the secret of
the judgement and metamorphosis of
the painted cotton into a stained truth.
...

On a sizzling riverbed, how many suicides
will make up the loss of a green moon? Must
we count our rags in sleep? Victims of a
manipulated music of bricks!
...

A moment of pause was needed
in the eerie lull after the
gathering of dreams, to enter
the corridor of voices.
...

They walk in dreams
nightmarishly
spirits of nameless faces
staring without eyes.
...

When the hate began
subordinating,
where were you?
O!
...

Standing on a beam,
shrine:
holding a black dawn,
...

The skin drifts:
explores the trash:
Atlast the path was liberated.
...

Eating fire, but entangled
in the cobwebs,
of becoming or not becoming
a child again;
...

from known to known
fear moves
in a circle, like a cheetah;
...