# #betrayal #life #forgiveness #suffering #sadness #pain #mistakes #madness #let me be

The Face In Flames

Satish Verma

Salt-of-the lips. 
You never know, how it hurts 
the bigotry. 

It was not the might 
of divinity, when you sentence 
the child for blasphemy. 

I would not kiss the― 
stone, where the blood stained 
the sun. Grey halo was collapsing. 

It was the helplessness 
of the river, accepting the guilt 
of sunken boat. 

Again I recite your name 
in sleep. The sting was as cruel 
as the tongue.

Never Again

Satish Verma

You to whom, I 
am lost, the remaining pain 
will fetch the grace― 
poise and dignity of 

The future lies in― 
the halo of the hill, where 
the blood was spilled last night. 

A black spot on the sun was 
enlarging. I spell your name 
in a bird song, that croons 
tirelessly in timeless dawn. 

The moon drenched lake 
wails for the boat not to come.

Levitating In Solitude

Satish Verma

The heartwood had the ingrained 
dream map, to reach the 
divine shape of a solemn god, who 
was guiding the sap. 

One day you would go deep 
in dark, to find your roots 
where tomorrow was conceived. 

And in the ruins, you will 
find the warmth of 
your peers, still walking on the god-particles. 

A religion now takes over 
the mob, ready to plunge into yellow 
sands of dry river. 

The hopes and promises, 
give you a horizon, far away. 
Your want to touch this furnace, 
that brings the burning day of solitude.

Welcoming New Era

Satish Verma

Wearing the red bandanna, 
you tried to manipulate the bedrock. 
Life had been never the same for me. 

The ferry sinks the riding 
deity in midstream. In polytheism, 
I never had my own god. 

O the chemistry of love has 
changed. Meatless, my skiny arms, 
lift the sage of fallen moon in darkness. 

I am not ready to conclude 
as yet, my epic of fragmented truth. 
We were fighting the wars of lame lies. 

Who would spare me to become 
immortal in stones? Let us not start the 
annihilation of sane shadows in the poem.


Satish Verma

Your interpretation 
was a miracle of 
unbelieving. I was not 
a flesh eater. 

Between paradise 
and a hut, lies the sky 
of colored dreams. You 
lean forward to― 
pluck the moon. 

So stoned, was the 
sinister design, that 
you walked straight 
into the arms of stings. 

It has become a 
strange saga, when a 
moth burns, without 
a candle. 

A sun nosedives with 
a water motif on the lips.

Victory March

Satish Verma

The living dead are going to 
ask for the right to be 
forgotten in gender dysphoria. 

In grimed apparel, 
the deities were deported back 
to the barn, for housing the antiques. 

The future turns blue, 
moon-eyed, hooking up the 
hopes of running heels. 

Is that true that there 
will be mass suicide after 
the fall of the fort? 

The fat lanterns now 
don't throw the light. Incense 
of burning flesh floats.

The Ephemerality

Satish Verma

It was punctuated night. 
You sleep into wakefulness. 

The space between the shut-eyes 
trembles, when you start sweating. 

The infant-death of the dream, 
incites the borderland. The― 

flames rise in a partisan way, 
to erase the memories of guilt. 

You are in deep grief for the 
coiled sperms, from end to end, 

they were longer than the body. 
Would you like to wake up a jinn? 

A digital forgetfulness, you seek 
to solve the enigma of life.

Walking In Woods

Satish Verma

This spectrum. 
No it will not work. 
I am not there in the 
shade, smoke filled barn, or― 
in secular morgue. 
Stubble burning was 
like legend of war. 
How do I shut the 
door of diamond moon― 
in the kingdom of 
weeping night? 
An animal in you 
will not sleep, claiming the 
innocence of baby steps. 
A virginal vanity. 
Nobody stops you to 
display the grains of salt. 
Would you listen to the land, 
flight of words― 
passage of time?

Thinking In Depth

Satish Verma

The moment of truth has― 
arrived. The earth 
has moved the man. It was 
accidental verdict. You know, 
which cell you will be incarceated now? 

My flame-singed eyes, search 
the inception of integrity above board. 
I am afraid of myself to 
admit that societal violence 
has come to stay! 

Celebrating the birthday of 
a self-propelled god, I go 
into irreversible retreat. God 
bless the wax house, fire was 
raging on hills. 

The blood cherries, blood on 
your shirt, blood rings on your 
fingers, and blood in my eyes.