It was a taxidermal view thousands of fawns on the lake. Can you handle the die-off of the whole truth? I have nowhere to go. Genes are turning on, turning off. Bare hands holding the bruises.
Hungry, but cannot eat looking at the tattoos on the back of starving children. I am sick these days in the midst of glory and shame. Faithlessness is a prize wrapped by shadows. The snakes are climbing on the walls.
Human things, like chimps kissing and hugging to calm down. in memoriam of a lost tribe. The body of a chaste god lies buried under the debris of unholy secrets. Homeless I wander, beneath the high sky.
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 am a Traveler, a Wanderer as a Soul “Life” – a great journey I am gonna discover and explore. Routes are dicey, paths are hardly smooth and are always wild, Every corner of the road holds a New unexpected
Like a testudine wanderer or a gastropod tramp, the weight on my shoulders shrinks my home. Holes and scars of a limited life; duct tape and pants on display. For in such a tiny home, lives such a tiny voice
Pander to the broken once more shall you see, the changes made, Above the mighty Stereo Surrendering, only to ignite streams to pour From the fountain of the Infinite Well. Oh! allow such splendor to splash upon a page Aplomb!