I forgot, was it me in a body pile draped in dust, still hot, bruised, burnt, a mad megalomaniac starting a civil war, creating suicide bombers, young virgins inhaling death?
This journey under the guns, displacing hapless thousands, will reach destination on thick, blood stained red, dirt road of life? Step by step the dynasty breaks and violence, a malignant spread overtakes the bones
of avatars; the round bloodshot eyes cross the barriers of silence and step out from the skin: they were bombing his bunker.
*On the death of Vellupillai Prabhakaran, LTTE Leader
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
An insider was asking: this was a very troubling question. Why a culture becomes sick, burns the book, and beheads a god? Forgive my loincloth. This century was becoming very hot till the nose bleeds and fills the cauldron of
The hawk was always hatching a pacer, to spin the surveillance, tampering the tracks of violence. The haul was heavy. Moon and fishes went on to spread the dragnet striking gold from the liquid denials. The sovereignity was violated of
It is autumn grapes are bleeding. The orange color seeps into your eyes. Will you shut the green lids? You, start reading backward. Atavistic instinct to dig up the severed hands? Your house, died in the flower bed. Seeds were
It was inheritance of age before the mirrors for the language of windows. The high rise buildings always cast a pall of gloom.earth seems to slide and I cannot reach the sky. I want to say what I did not