I believe, I had not arrived when you were arbitrating between naked steel and the truth. Violence were you. I was watching the burning pyres in a row. Small hands were collecting the ashes, casting glances on the falcons. Why reincarnation of the reaper again and again arching the helpless life in terror? Half-filled cups of tears are spilled on the marbled smoke. We made the truce with slaughter in moonlight pitying the survivors in sun. The face watching from the window disappears. An auburn dawn wakes with swollen eyes. I might find a lost child of the empty womb – wandering in wilderness of three dimensional sorrow. O mother! somewhere the roots are waiting!
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
A New Dawn Justice Eluded her But she was On Run Till last gasp But soon surrounded The foul air Lies and deceit Confusion thicken With Past ,pre past links of delinked Whither the path? Now energy lost Treading forward
Auburn love walked bowed legs XCII years…mountain highs-valley lows, bus routes to homes of the white affluent, scrubbing dirty mosaic tiles, shadowed by stale late night celebrations of new deals… our raw deal. Auburn love walked bowed legs XCII years…Daddy’s
Dawn left bare bones Gave her his cruel temper, he, whom no one had ever loved Virgin’s blood shed not for pleasure but for body senses lust Flare of fire, modern world burnt Fugitives from Orion hide on Milky Way