In a starry night an adolescent thought starts a rivalry. A baby moon squirms. No hour was safe from terror in dark. I climb the stairs breathlessly.
The great divide deepens in hearts. Incisors bite the tongue, grey cells bleed inside. Thick ash has not stopped the cinders smouldering under the veils of flushed peace. Cupped tears wash the feet of death, a caravan of words moves desolated, cutting on the edges, before you say goodbye to green vision.
Today I am pulling out the nails from the walls. No hangings of departed centuries. No portraits of exiled flames. Only the face of truth, burning at the interface of untruths.
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 firstname.lastname@example.org. 5-A ii, Mayoor Colony, Alwar Gate, Ajmer – 305007 INDIA Mobile +91 9829071468
You are peeling me off like a crab. Time has sunk very low. For the hungry kids who was growing crab apples? Creating art, arriving between the pubes. A microfossil roosting within me. I could live without oxygen. Incandescent, the
The doubters will cross the coals after the raid. Apology will not be in attendance. Sitting on the throne of cold blooded assassination, do you think justice demands the revenge? Whom you are killing, the body or the spirit? Heads
From farthest East, or more precise The forests vast on India’s breast, Rose hymns of wisdom that never dies, The words of knowledge, forever best. Those hymns were born from wisest hearts, As throats would trill in sombre shades; They