Yes, your name was sliced off from the impasse. I will stand with you to track the continental drift. How little I knew about you and the prosthetic words. Again and again I return to ruins, and the dust and crumbling absence. Eyes will speak for the wordless silence now.
Who will tell the truth for the murdered thought? The cognitive silence? You don’t want to see the light. The soul sits outside the body. Pollution hits the mind. The words eat the emptiness of facts and lies. A vertical descent of speech.I should not have listened to cries.
A memory moves in zigzag manner, accepts the odyssey of man’s failing gods.
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
Silence It’s only when they can’t see, That’s when the tears runs heavy. In the silence i make no sound Though everyone is around. It’s goes on for hours into the next day And the tears still flow anyway I
Silence. He could but dread the feel of it The disturbing silence of children back home as adults Even the sub conscious silence of heavy steps in his broken world of isolation The mocking silence of the crumbled currency lying
Those days, not gone, still within me, Full of love, my mad love-scenes, With fantasies, and fallacies of colorful days, We paved through narrow, secluded streets, Shady meadows, gardens, water-falls, Pubs and coffee-club cabins, you and me, In deep love;