One’s existence was threatened by the overseeing iguana like crested disguise. Repressive, explosive eyes. You are trapped in words beneath bewitching smile. The ‘V’ sign for violence becomes more obvious. That hits you in face.
The eastern wind is blowing. Cold and chilly. An odyssey of massacre and blood bath. The mayhem of democratic jam. Fingers crossed, we wait for a miracle to happen. Someone turns back the tide and sharp knives are taken out from the flesh. A diminutive man wears giant shoes, prepares for a long jump.
Donor of the egg was unknown surrogate mother was on price.
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
As we take a break before new year and congratulate ourselves for surviving Christmas and all the cheer. We’ve wrapped all our presents, exchanged them with loved ones, sampled tons of food, drunk lots of wine and beer. Onto New
In the empty house of snow, though, interred a blade of grass when I was searching one midnight flame in frozen night, on parting lips of darkness. The art of delusion churns the sea for an untitled arsenic, of a
A symbolic undertaking, A torch that has been passed Divinity materialized in your eyes not for buying or selling This life you have granted me flows so fast Stories shared through the years, A generation is for telling Grace in
I met her few days ago In a beautiful garden May be a new friend though face was unknowable, but as if we were known to each other from time immemorial Innocent face, solemn lines on the forehead, eyes looked like