Satish Verma Poems

Death will not measure
the height,
from which we fall.
Not being,
...

A silent wrath sits in a pool
of blood, will start a battle
over the footprints of sponges
who soaked the history.
...

After seeding the clouds
they were going to buy wet lips.

Seven minutes to make a bomb:
...

And there was history
to map the terror. A neoplasm
was arising suddenly in the aching skull.
Chorus of wailing: the burning will not go.
...

There was a portrait under the landscape.
Whispering of clouds,
writhing body and
tense folds.
...

You go down in the dry pool
foraging for the political errors,
irisprints, a certain desire of revolt,
any skeleton to identify the victim.
...

Under the tree of learning
of another life, the primitive father arrives.
Casts a spell of wisdom, between sorrow and death
with a speck of tears in circle of beings.
...

You are dying inside me,
my little god.
I am awakening after a long pause.
...

A fugitive slice of moon
was preparing to leave.
From nothingness, tiny thoughts
flew out like moths.
...

Let’s not go,
let’s not reach anywhere.
The toenails have started digging in the earth,
to make peace with the distress response
...