Satish Verma Poems

Blood was in season,
on your hands.
A staged encounter
mauling the clouds.
...

Fear grips a family of words.
You are going to where you do not want
to go.
I remain worried about the unknown.
...

Living between the deaths
as a witness
to a silence between the words.
...

I will need
some new words today.
To say what I did not want to say,
scratching at the surface of truth.
...

It was a wake up call
invoked
in the beginning of serene numbness.
...

In twilight of pain
I blink for a dot
to punctuate the intelligence.
...

With stoicism writ on face
I invite the chisels
for giving birth to a dialogue
...

There was no end
to looking inside.
I was crumbling.
...

The ashes will come back
in mauve,
in furrowed face of hunger.
...

I had not imagined
that you will start an inquiry
into the creeping fog
under the estranged moon.
...