Satish Verma Poems

Advent of strange
sign on forehead was asking
for the laughing eye.
...

I was a poem
reinventing the estranged
diaspora of words.
...

Forever the rituals
of hate and love continue.
The sun survives the feet.
...

You stop at the brink,
to flirt with the rim of
the lake.
...

I would be riding
your stumps― to
byzantine castle
of ardor.
...

Calling back, the snatcher.
After the outrage,
Eros was on run.
...

In deafening silence
I was hearing you,
trying to taste and smell
the traces left by you.
...

Sweet grapes? There was
no exit from the question
hour. You left the sky
for an answer, after a soul-search.
...

Encountering a dislocated self,
here it goes, the “I”,
flicking out the name
which will reach nowhere.
...

I walk through the slush
of moral grief.
Here lies my mortal poem.
...