Satish Verma Poems

BLACK ROSES 15 June 2010

Wading
in your memories.
...

I hate the self-immolation
of orange sex.
Weather was leaving
blue strings on the skin.
...

A bucketful of moon
falls on my door
with the smell of a salted night
on frozen shoulders of a punctured landscape.
...

Be my soul in outrageous
sunshine of knowledge.
I need a shade of tears.
...

From the unread book
I look back at three generations, with
whom I was fighting
for a staircase, which did not
...

Still listening from lips,
a mute hearing with hands,
an improper metaphor.
...

The native walls
were hounding me-

out of game.
...

That roasting night
when honeyed moon hung high
weaving a humming sound
I spoke to clouds.
...

A thought starts a fire
loosening the lips.
I want to scream.
...

For a messenger of lies
I lay down the script.
A kick starts the game.
...