Satish Verma Poems

Let it remain
ovarian pure. After strangulating
the truth,
for hypoxic euphoria.
...

Stammering quarrel
with classical fluidity,
fails to measure the uncertainty.
I was finding my rocks,
...

For you
I am walking on rocks
holding unburnt match sticks,
you want me to throw them
...

This kitsch
makes you hollow,
kleptomaniac.
You become blind in green
...

Your window
was very small.
Why did not you throw the dice?
Walk away
...

Eggs went freezing in the sap.
Lips of moon were hot.

In the flare up, the
...

Roses had gone wilting
after surgery.
Biovision
of acrylic lenses
...

To catch himself
he jumped into fishpond
becoming opaque
between silk and lethal crotch.
...

Give me,
some poison to live
I had been dead
for many years.
...

You are not me.
It was not gentle,
it was not sweet.
It was fire in the glass.
...