Satish Verma Poems

After land slips it was
most surreal scene. Cadaveric
donations had started.
...

I become again a fakir,
but not on alms.

A giver wants nothing
...

A wax house you were
gifted to live in sun.
No comments. As if the chess
game now starts. You do not know
...

Your comatose
countenance:
punctuates a coronal spurt.
...

Imperfect mating.
I am lurching forward―
in a chaotic
non-existence.
...

Writing your own elegy in a
blocked artery―

for a syntactic analysis.
...

Your hands tremble,
when you accept―
the cup of hemlock.
...

It is raining.
The water colors.
I miss the ache.
...

There was an urgency―
to finish the job,
beheading the tulips.
...

The tibial spiking
now hurts.
The floaters on the dried bed―
...