Joined by the funeral, we sit down, under the blue sky, fire watching, sequentialling the processions. Ultimately one by one they come, to dust, hands turned down. After close of the rainbow there is an explosion and a transition censored by stone age. They flee from the shrapnels to swathe in bioluminence of death. The penury makes a fanciest atrocity.
A pockmarked moon stands there to listen the scandalized whispers of crulest legends in century’s hopelessness, guilt’s bleeding. You never chained the voice of booms. A god mourns in fading light.
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
I was aware My breath was not the same His presence sank in me such I feel him in every drop of rain Pain,anger and intense moments Life’s become a fast trail The destination is worthless now Journey my only
My sadness is an unwalled fortress Where bats and doves dwell together… My sickness is a virgin mistress: Unfathomed mystery ailing the core and cover… My wish is a homeless beggar Whose stretched hand is empty as ever… My life