Shedding the wholeness of negation you arrive: fear was sweeping the floor when smoke screen of love was hung on blue morning, you groped for a hidden coin, lost in the woods of mania. Distinguishing a chaste word, without thought, ejected in a traffic of terror, you want to join a primitive tribe where a motherless fawn will harvest the milk from the breasts of a women.
Talking of a global sorrow into the green eyes of a snake, an awareness breaks, sucks you inside the hole of a wronged motherhood, the anthology of big nails on the walls of understanding, where the traditional colors throw up the wasted bodies, making you think tall, and you were running in a dark tunnel climbing and falling to attend the funerals, of moon gazing children.
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
Reveries are broken I wake up in despair Bombs blast human bodies Indiscriminately Human flesh—-of a child; a mother; a father who knows? Who cares? The issue is of attracting attention In the name of a religion To establish the
They swim like tadpoles. Thoughts! I was waiting at the far end of pond. Heartburn increases at dusk, fierce battle of blazing stripes on blankets. On the scarlet face a bridge was burning in wide open eyes. Somebody takes an
We watched them leaving- Leaving for the western plateau. We have our kin over there. They have promised them free passage. Will the others do the same? Some of them vowed to come back. Some of them cursed us back.
The sky is deep and murky green, The white sun sinking over the horizon, Extended by junk and litter. This is the oxymoronic haven. A carnival of despair Filled with torturous laughter Distorted, slow, hurdy-gurdy whistles, And tinkling, unsettling music-boxes.