A fear stalks me on the road. Sun was very aloof and cold. Cannot stop the decline, give me prayers of your lips. You talk of dark children dying when I was losing consciousness.
Will not question the ink of death or silence of night. The random greed of man walks in golden ruins without listening. I am counting my years wasted in pursuit of crazy dreams of climbing a watchtower.
Hunger had become a great teacher. Pain becomes a face. Limbs and shadows seek justice after rape and murder. Something seeps in me. Wounds bleeding on my hands, I dig the floor of the moon where God was sleeping.
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
After bending the oracle, there was participation in voice of grievers. The child of sun was dead in arms of nature. It moves, when I thought it was stillborn, the history of mankind. In the saddest day today, I believe
We were fools- Running away from the so called labyrinth of life But only to come back with renewed wrath for each other. Was it romance? When we were inside your car, It was raining a little that night, And
A Colored Moon// By: Fareed Ghanem (1) A moon is red in three moods: When the ladies of high society kiss windows and walk out without lipstick, or; When white color is called red, or; When roses bloom in your
Sleep, O drowsy moon Laying on garden path As winter sets in. Condensing mist In foaming gist Plays with chill shadows.. Her abrasive form Cold as snow Stiffen all loves. Why she is awake still Like a haunted spirit Brings