Moving Off

After a long time, I heard them again:
peacocks.
Bequeathing the pilgrim sun to palm trees;
poised to open sexuality.

Ah, the purple lips of a downing
cloud sets the sky on a chase
for a lost love of the blazing
moon in the starless night.

A recent pluck of a sharp grace folds
the lingerie, you open the fist to let
the explosion fly away.
This was the start of a crimson romance.
Moving Off

After a long time, I heard them again:
peacocks.
Bequeathing the pilgrim sun to palm trees;
poised to open sexuality.

Ah, the purple lips of a downing
cloud sets the sky on a chase
for a lost love of the blazing
moon in the starless night.

A recent pluck of a sharp grace folds
the lingerie, you open the fist to let
the explosion fly away.
This was the start of a crimson romance.

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Satish Verma

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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 kantasatish@gmail.com. 5-A ii, Mayoor Colony, Alwar Gate, Ajmer – 305007 INDIA Mobile +91 9829071468
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100…99…98…off To The Land Of…

100...99...98...off To The Land Of... elegy

Wynken Blynken and Nod??? (ah…oh methinks this pissant pooch woof lee barked up the wrong tree – reed don my mongrel friend) This poetic endeavor doth not boast nor brag to take digs on front page headline grabbing news, nonetheless

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