In lunatic scape of fringed labellum the creeping malignancy was advancing. i missed a rendezvous with moon when you had brought a blue kiss from abducted lips; again I become a sisypus lifting the rock off your comets of round tangerines.
something was missing from our parched lilies, this teaching was hurting, in our maniac depression tampering with our melting, the body had left the golden leash, the first liberation from nagging pain of verbs the noun moved farther than silent classics shadows in between the fatalities
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
You are peeling me off like a crab. Time has sunk very low. For the hungry kids who was growing crab apples? Creating art, arriving between the pubes. A microfossil roosting within me. I could live without oxygen. Incandescent, the
From farthest East, or more precise The forests vast on India’s breast, Rose hymns of wisdom that never dies, The words of knowledge, forever best. Those hymns were born from wisest hearts, As throats would trill in sombre shades; They
Deep down thighs, unhoisted, what was there, harvesting the sperms? At dusk an inflorescence breaks into myriads of fireworks, wrecked apologia, interned unlikeness, insanity, kissing the goldenrod to start the flow of bare grief. I deserve no nobility, my moonscape
Crock-sockers, We ate ’em all Serve no good, Other than to chew the fat, To bake away the day Motivations like that should be cancelled, As most are being paid for productivity, Not only to wear khakis and a crooked