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Impoverished: Poems by Satish Verma


It was a dirty war
of moat
flaying the legs in emotional outburst.

No stings.
Only mandibles will do the job of chewing
on your dark fingers.

Flat, the taste of milk:
a synthetic formula to eat your entrails.
The plastic nose will smell the rose.

message will bring the fishplates
and birthmark of violence.

Death has a cult of contusions.
You bleed to bones
for illuminating the street.



A blank paper invites
for rape.
Snow sinks for a prelude.

The black swan flies away
for the quiet hills,
when sun was drawing out the blood.

Alone I will write a poem
beneath the tear soaked eyes
and then moon fell.

As in the valley
of million tulips
I will make a dream kill.



You asked for an explanation
for a flame. A bat
flies in a passage of pain.
A poem becomes an accuser.

They were drowning
the moon
in a lake of blood.
A poem sails like a kayak.

The snow was falling
like drifting lovers.
Stains were becoming bits of screams.
A poem delivers an echo.

The fear turns you blue
in midst of knocks.
Doors had the outrageous locks.
A poem walks like truth



Jinxed out
was the sex panel
on the honour’s integrity.
Deep water a fish
was found dead.

The destination
of your rival was
feminism. I was talking
of the moon
without gender.

Your fingers were probing
the dancing words,
in this strange event.
Darkness was falling
on my lips in morning.


(c) Satish Verma

Satish Verma
Satish Vermahttp://satishvermapoems.blogspot.com/
Satish Verma is the author of twelve poetry collections.

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