a savage desire to severe off one’s neck, the song will get a name in troubled mind, to remove the stain on tongue of black spider, you will think again to commit your sleep for that beautiful death:
guess what happens when you come out of the body like a blue beam and strike a black hole amidst the shining legies, the lines on your hand till a different merger when the listening was unheard and the body does not talk,
wolves were coming; no one minds the bullets, but sneaking in dark, like paroxysm of sunrealistic chorus of mutiny or angles fallen from the sky the acid was thrown on the face, of rosy lips because they were finding new words.
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 spill of sheen after deep throat explosion. Not as special as the day appeared. Afraid of complete annihilation? Was it possible? Untenable? Living in a cavern full of bats? A key slept in a lock unmoving the golden doors.
Standing on a beam, shrine: holding a black dawn, my phoenix roving on dark river. The bell still clangs; I hear the footsteps. A weird thought spreads out on peripherals, makes holes, the undone communiqué of a war between knuckles;
You told me lot of stories….. on the field, in the moonlit night. stars above and the moon alone listened to your words, far away, someone is singing a song, song of desire and despair song of departure……. a story