The yellow beaked vultures were waiting. A cloth bag contains the bleached remains; his father. Impeccable gift unmasked. After the inferno, hydrants went dry. The guilt survives the dispossession, pondering over the black dew now covering the pink roses.
The illusion persists. Master is coming home. jug was empty. A miracle will start the kitchen. An infant cries in the backyard.
The windows were sleeping. Let the sun stand outside. A yellow moon at night will open the door.
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
Mountains from thirty-five thousand feet: Bike-wreck rucked skin below powdered sugar. No tread and no track in that authentic wilderness No pioneer souls in either ridgeline or crease And no you to arrive home to, the lush riffle Of short
The wind chime’s ceramic pings Announces her arrival Sunlight streaming through her window Breathes life into her dormant room My heart is coming home again! I will not cling I will not cry I will not let sadness Tinge our