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Best Poems Written by Satish Verma

Below are the all-time best Satish Verma poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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What Went Wrong

In twilight,
the noose tightens-
and shadows start walking
towards you; to reclaim
your anonymity-
and declare in deadpan manner:
the author is dead.

Your smallness goes
on sale. You are subjected
to scrutiny by the small print, but
the truth escapes from lidless eyes.

A private punishment.
There was blood on the knife.
Why did you write a
sanguinary poem for your savior today ?


Satish Verma

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Genocide

King of sex,
the third gender
or hermaphrodite,
half male, half female,
existing on margin,
beheads the creator
to propitiate the deity of destruction,
starts a genocide
to create a new model,
new world, sexless, moonless
sunless.

How could you remain normal
when you were being robbed of every myth,
every truth?
And you were walking under the guilty sky
unmindful of the pouncing, long legged tarentulas
to bite off your elements?
All of your tongue?
And the heat will give up the slaughtered spring
dried up in eternal shade?
Within the memory will lie the pain
of million years?


SATISH VERMA

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Of a Virgin God

Partly clad
full moon
was taking a bath on hills.
Trees were waiting
for the curtains to rise.

Scented stars would make
giant scars on the clouds,
I would make peace with the sky.
Lids of human greed were laden
with golden dust, I was hoisting the skull.

Of a virgin god who did not
want to live for the blotched up creation.
The decline was obvious. Truth 
had refused to climb
on the sky-blue, salted peaks of springs.

Body had arrived,
mourners quietly wailing.
Gouged eyes could not decipher
the script on the halved pyramid.
Sun was sucking the clay.


 
SATISH VERMA

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Different Shades

Do  you envision a creeping fear
climbing the minaret
to reach the moon ?

A debate has started
between believers and non-believers.
Why not he who lives

in eternal emptiness climbs down
and settles the dispute of hymns
in the scortching heat of words.

I just want you to read
the script and don’t say, a sky
has wept

drop by drop on the nakedness
of human beings
who could not cover their shadows.



Satish Verma

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Destiny

Nomadic moon was roaming
in the maddened fear of night.
A wordless journey in silent dark.

Betonica
for a painless being,
sustains the blues of separation.

An inverted green
puts the roots upward
to send a message.

Fear breaks the bones
to mould the claws.
There was no oblique answer.

Nobody was blameless.


SATISH VERMA

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Scarf On Head

Tangled clues
with sensuous sparring;
the incense was rising from the blue moon.

It was body’s integrity,
a lender was demanding
when lust had become prodigal.

Behind the thin veil, red eyes
stared unblinkingly 
at the portrait of a nude zero.

When the light was nodding from a crown
the darkness spat on the feet
which walked on the roses.

A single thorn will not be envious
of the licking fingers.
A drop of blood will tell the truth.


Satish Verma

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Time To Answer *

This wake, I owed it to you, my defining moment :
for the raw melding, of life imprisonement
and death behind the bars. The sin had
	
seeped slowly in the foundations. A blurred view
of the caravan passing on the shifting sand
of quarter-century; the devastation had turned

black in smug oasis, the victim will not
become virgin again. Blind dead will monitor
the course of grievers. On to her tongue

I leave the endless stars and you will forget
the bull-dosed windows and weeping walls
of incaracerated house where the daily meals

were sex and rape ; the strange shadows
of crime and pardon are breaking now
in blue sky after the defeating moon.



SATISH VERMA
•	After hearing the verdict on Josef Fritzl on 19th March 09

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Will You Marry Me ?

Sky weeps, I was collecting clouds
from stillness of the sea.
A snake again wants to kiss,
I am learning to die
in arms of spiral mirrors.

Cannot forgot the cheating of umbrellas.
The stings, the twists, the hollow breads.
Foams are submitting the  venoms
on golden plates.
I grieve for the dignity of a hangman.

The retreat leaves the blood
on the stones. My house was burning.
Will you marry me ? I ask the dew
sitting on the grass. Don’t go
back to the sun.

A relentless bucket fills up, again
I am  watching at  the moon.
The icy sand, the fire, the heat.
Flowers will hunt the thorns
at rooftops of sleep.

SATISH VERMA

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Stoning Dark

What was the ethics of homefires
when homeostasis had gone awry ?
There were no concrete truths.
I will not wear the lies instead	
like fly ash on my bloodied shirt.

The old habits die hard;
the beds of flesh and bones, carry the
strange innocent meanings of heavy
eyelids which could not beat the silk
of green eyes of a sun.

A miracle was needed to undo the
thighs of mermaid who went to sleep on the
rocks of jealousy. The sky-blue flames
rise again from the navel of infidel love
who had inherited the golden moon.


Satish Verma

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Gladius

It was a dangerous mix of midriff and moons.
A nude goddess was riding a tiger.
Moralization. I will not allow my peaks to

fail me. I was running on the road to salvation.
It cuts across the flames, then the zilch,
poised for becoming a rag-picker.

The pseudo-lies were half-truths. The alienation
was hung in air, in graveyard and homes.
Now the sun follows me in dark.

It was nothing short of a miracle,
eating the forbidden fruit and lying still
in the company of hydrangeas and drinking

nothing. Tears and salt displace the clouds.



Satish Verma