Crisp and tight, a parallel voice of black stars talks to sky, protesting the presence of ultimate outsider, when everybody was a partner of collective guilt in nightscape.
What was the center of fight in elite members? The unhindered ego or claim of bland crumbs of authority? The innocents so many, on streets, surrounding a red smudge, liberty, watching her personification, who sleeps here!
Whom it burns? As the blood spurts from the chest of a white stone.
• On the death of Neda Agha Soltan in Tehran on 20st June 09
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 legato of language and lingo, The dance of diction and dialect — Have you ever considered the difference A little letter or two can effect? Texture of tense, Savor of sense, The nuance in a sentence — What’s really
Meet Zask and Zisk, See them venture forth — They know little About the destination, Only that it’s an energy station On a big blue world Known to locals as Earth. “Look at that!” Exclaims Zask, “We are in luck
The very essence of love is uncertain, A relentless thumping of the heart. I must speak to you by such means as they are within my reach. He pierces my soul driving me into madness. I am half agony, half
The moon awaits eagerly in the same pedestal it ignited my passion. What lips, my lips have kissed, are long forgotten. The memories easily quickened as a few puddles along the way I voluntarily stepped in. What arms have lain