Pathways have no boundaries, thinker was without a thought. Hostile mind refuses to believe truth was missing from life. From depth to depth measurement had failed. God does not know his creation now.
Foolish flesh now burns in thudding bangs of dry butter. I want you to touch the opaque eyes of eternity. In captivity of sighs and groans. You ought to understand who was original. There had been free invitation to become unfaithful. There were masks, gene shifts and longevity.
This evening a drama will be enacted in sky by unburnt bras and a black hole. There will be thrill. It was easy to bury the skulls among floating names. The wreath will be placed on the transitional edge of sweetness. Which never was.
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
I recognized the vitriol. There was blood on your hands. The invisible was burning in dark. This was the black moon and this was the alienation. An animal climbs on your shoulders. It goes on and on. Was it the
I wished a solitary temptation, to write off karma and become responsible for the spattered blood. You were generating hatred, Asia, in the land of Buddha. I can hear the glaciers receding. Answerable to belonging, the change of generations, makes