Somewhere in between slumber and arousal the twilight zone scoops a fistful of memories. Atrophied limbs. Mottled skin. A cancerous face haunts. Not afraid but I am anxious. Life has not yet ebbed away. I scramble for sparks, my hands burn. Very disquietening! The severed bones in a heap. They wanted to appease the goddess, the gnomes were dancing in a circle.
The land, the country is breaking, sky is falling. Run, run for cover. I scream in a dream. Are we disintegrating? Disappearing? A black hole is calling? The mega truth has been broken into myriad fragments, We are now thinking in chips, holding our own mirror. Show your mirror to your truth. Future is fogging the past.
Come hither my child of sorrow. We are old tribe. We will keep our pledge to maintain fidelity towards verses of sadness, evening, night, stars and dust. The sparkles will die one day. Only the moon will rise on the dead bodies. Where will you like to go?
Amongst the ruins, walking straight back to the treasure-trove of ancient wisdom. Wake up Bells are chiming.
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
the winds are becoming numbing needles to my skin again. the whistling of the night is entering the day covering up the sun to my happiness. the bullying was a distant memory from my mind now fresh to my soul.
Old numbers, lighthouses, baked bread. I open my eyes. nervous and irritable. Another day with vertigo. Five shillings grew lighter and lighter, the grinning letters, occupied me, tender and cool. Things change their colour, and die, The ever-increasing noise, the
Walking in mental fog, you become a swaying tree. In mistiness one becomes lonely like a blackbird. Hollyhocks would wait, till the sun comes out. December rain brings the gift― of sleet on lips. ————————————– Walking in mental fog, you