The body was arched in a denial mode on the rose bed, unsettling human emotion in the train of lots. A broken chain of thoughts outranking the holiness of crime. I am not getting the signals of fire, sparks or flames. Only smoke on the mirror. It was becoming a murder, discarding the clay, terracotta, color in Indian summer. A sensuous dance begins, on the mobiles. The portfolio contains the numbers of streets for total annihilation so the visual footprints will disappear. The mathematical progress of genes halts. Million fingers will write history of wailing waves, frightened of hot winds.
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
Unrepenting you start from a sore point to ask an explanation from an eclipse of the sun. unreviving, a corpse, the moon carries the burden of light, on its bloodied shoulder for burial in dew. Half the century we were
Nature is wild and eagles and wolves will never be lovers. But certainly Poetry can overcome every obstacle and translates our dreams, desires, passions.. in images that evoke even a new, different Universe. It fulfills the very nature of Poetry
Someday I’m crossing over, over to the other side, I’m going home with Jesus, there with him abide. Until my life is over, from life I’ve passed away, Jesus will be waiting, to take me home to stay. My spirit