You put up a price on all the gifted items. I was not ready to pay back in dreams. Wanted to tell you without telling. Lips to lips we talk of a stillborn space which does not crack. Betraying the anger, words feel sick.
I was trying to decipher the moist corners of eyes. I will wait till sunset, when I will call for the night and take off my shadows and drop petals one by one and come out in hot sun to receive the burns of hatred.
It was not easy. Tulips were in full bloom and my tracks were warm. There were false shades all around the garden.
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
Far away from the world of love, hatred and war There is yet another world breathing silently Thats the world of love we call. There holds no boundaries No caste or creed Its purely emotions swirling freely. No land is
Not a single word added today to my tinsel book. The brown eyes were searching my smile. You want to close the happening of first moon and the fig. My roses start a new dialect, waiting on the clouds, almost
Deep within my soul Your words of love Burn so bright That you might be The very special girl I hold so tight Like two vessels That intertwine into the night You have a way of making Everything feels just
Fahrenheit mid twenties on dole skint Saturdays bordered in black and white diamond linoleum. Lost in days. I acridly observe the English countryside on a coffee table pamphlet. My minds unbridled in those munching country lanes. But sometimes it’s Lost,
Crush the piece of paper That is scribbled with words Of hatred in all the world! And write a letter To the author of our story Asking forgiveness for our ignorance In the matters of his judgment. Ask him, if