Satish Verma Poems

Becoming musical
at the end time,
like a whooper's swan.
...

The wind was black
and I wanted to make an eye contact
with the unknown.
Following the stars
...

A cherry legacy
and the orange pick.
Let me go wild.
...

The pungent smoke.
Someone was burning
the wet rhymes.
...

Becoming scattered,
the winged visitors
in my chest.
...

Crossing the divine,
I ask the marigolds
to return to the dust.
...

Blending with the light,
as ancients did―
on the leafy path.
...

When,
the scream ends, you start
digging the shadows of
red berries.
...

After carbon dating
you will find―
that pain does not shimmer.
...

Invasion was thin
like a feather's fall
on the mirror.
...