Revelations

Revelations short poem

Photo by aaronrhawkins

Winter topples the
sting
of muddled tongue.

The bottle
breaks the stasis
of eye.

I cede the smile
of history.
Somebody has left the home.

I become my enemy
in dark
for the acid taste of truth.

The moon
had the malignant stain.
My shirt has become dirty.

O god,
I never believed in you
nor in your ugly world!

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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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Daily Revelations

Daily Revelations long poem

Deprived of affection and a sense of belonging one retires to a sanctuary of isolation. Arraigned by the acute pain of rejection the walls become his or her world. Indicted with selfishness and antisocial behavior sleep is the best defense

Revelations

Revelations short poem

Widening cracks, leaking roofs choked drains in the courtyard water logging and myriad such small things make rains a pain There’s no romance in rainbow I can’t shape colors of morning morning shapes my color: I’m the victim of my