Satish Verma Poems

The brown rice were
not yet ready.
An old man turns in grave.
...

It was a damp kiss
of an image.
Dispassionately you drop
an old coin into my hands.
...

Tonight the moon will sit
on the gazobe,
to have a look at the sea, rising.
...

Blunt and bold were
the wet spots.
You bleed like me.
...

You come to me like
a fall.
All the colors have arrived.
...

Autumn was round
the corner. I was preparing
for the fall.
...

Sometimes I do not
want to be talked about.
Like the setting sun.
...

Bending the truth,
you return back to your home,
separated by a―
monologue of lie.
...

It was devastating.
Out of boredom, drops in
the moon, in the month October.
Hanging over a palm,
...

A diminutive moon
will ask about the infinity
of blackness, when I
was waiting in November night
...