There was the hunger and suicide. In favor of my brutal truth or virtue of my failure, I do not want any comments on my trauma. Morality has a dubious equation with power, provoking my anger.
The days were full of abandoned kilns. No more shaping of containers in which one can put the moon, and honey and roses. Everything was turning brown with infinite, sulphur smelling teeth ready to bite into golden flesh.
Convicts behind the walls were playing with mirrors to throw the light on slick towers. Death was laughing, waiting on the trees, eating black berries. And I was forced to taste the blood of sky with sodium – in sanctum sanctorum.
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
I must not go beyond sunset to discover the consciousness of night, Standing alone on a cliff I was ready to jump for salvation atoning for guilt of survival. My regret was time and timeless suffering. Where was the maturity
In the comfort of my room I sit and scribble all the sundry and sometimes seriously on varieties of topic I build my own world of poetry and assume I am the master of philosophy of life and have solution
When Dr. King said, \”I have a dream that one day our children would be judged by the content of their character not the color of their skin.\” Was the \”our\” he referred to African Americans or all people? If
Today I heard her say something very beautiful, I wanted to tell her but instead I tugged at my heart and shut it up. The greedy spirit wrenched of its riches? Ridiculous. It’s easier this way, trapping them deep. Words,
One fine evening as we sat around, our spirits gay, She came towards us, palms bowl-shaped, eyes accustomed to implore, Though filled with anguish, yet determined, they seemed to say, “A tiny morsel, a little coin, nothing more!” Though the