My garden cries for no reason. Kindness melts into rain of twisted petals. And that is it. Alone I whisper the translucent words, watching the death of dreams, living fossils. The sun bakes the seeds.
The essence will not heal, this bandaged soul, the conceptual death of a thought. This fear is like a curled snake. Must I abandon the path? I know, I will not forgive me, at this dim joint. I must keep moving.
I do not know, what to think, how to catch, the poetry of the night. The light blinks into my eyes. I walk in the shadow of sounds, smashing the road signs.
Satish Verma is ferociously original. You feel resentment, outrage and violence, cannot pin it down but wonderfully spin your brain. Satish has the greatest sensibility which sweetly exploits the delicacies of human conflicts. You are taken aback. This is magic, profoundly soulful. In a lone, long journey Satish Verma is still discovering himself. Beaten, betrayed, felled, he comes back with fierce velocity. His childhood was traumatized by India’s partition. Terror, violence and death were witnessed which built the morals of poet. Becoming defiantly recluse Satish Verma pursued his value based life on the path of truth. Teaching Botany for 35 years he was writing poetry, privately and solemnly and published twelve collections. Worked silently with social causes. His scions, doctors and engineers are living in USA. He chose to live back in his beloved country and resides in Ajmer (INDIA) with his spouse Kanta running the Charitable Holistic Institute of SEWA MANDIR FOUNDATION. He can also be reached at email@example.com. 5-A ii, Mayoor Colony, Alwar Gate, Ajmer – 305007 INDIA Mobile +91 9829071468
Hoisting the bisexuality on a figurine, I crawl back to anxiety. The primitive instinct was taking over the stitches on a snake. What do you want from a moon for the drooling mouth of a seashell? Braiding the breasts against
It’s time to wake up world, read between the lines and start paying attention to the Warning Signs. Why are there so many disasters coming back to back, it seems Mother Earth is on the attack And it’s a shame
All braced to face the day, The diurnal engine ignited, Gently revving up, Barging into the quietude Of the colony, With a daily prayer escaping His mumbling lips, As he steered mildly Into the road, To see a car pulled
We are all in a race, the race for being first, From childhood we have been told you have to come first or your life will be as meaningless as dust. People are struggling to be appreciated and be known,