Satish Verma Poems

Was that a non-devil effort
to hide the language
from cultural onslaughts?
...

After the puppet show,
the nest was calling.
Indeed, the leaves held the slanted light
expanding the shade snared on branches,
...

The hawk was landing.
Squinting at the urgent need
of slaughter and hope –
...

The sludge overtakes the sane
euphoria.A barefoot caravan
of cloud becomes edgy.
...

Goose-stepping on a soul song
you set the sky ablaze,
and I was not ready to welcome you.
...

After a long time, I heard them again:
peacocks.
Bequeathing the pilgrim sun to palm trees;
poised to open sexuality.
...

On your face the shadow of a transparent wound
bungles the capricious climate
of the death of a thought which you could not
carry very far.
...

Hoisting the bisexuality
on a figurine,
I crawl back to anxiety.
...

Not a single word added today
to my tinsel book. The brown eyes
were searching my smile.
...

Putting the fire in mouth
as a last rite
he readied himself for the onslaught
of questions, who will attack like
...