Satish Verma Poems

Gold fringed, the hood
strikes. You are bound
to throne.
...

Widening the scope
you want to remain
at center stage.
...

Shredding begins.
One by one all the leaves fall, like disrobing.

The words hang around, the naked soul.
...

Yes it would remain
incomplete, my story―
my poem.
...

Returning to the ragpicker
like a lone fly
of love triangle, said― were you
writing a letter to confess your love?
...

Munitions in place
you were ready
to strike.
...

The ethical dilemma,
and chaste abscenity,
were the game changers.
...

A house without doors
I was living
in fog.
...

Not confessional.
Without reading the body
there was no room.
...

You want to cover your
amnesia. Death
has no other color.
...