What was about this face? Between mirage and actuality? A fireball was coming towards you. You upturn the underside, wanted to taste the blood and get argasm. The statues were posing nude.
Mothers were clad in leaves. Fruits were the greed of man. I refuse to lie in state. The sand grains will find the innocence of silver breasts when sky will spat a murder. Were you ready now to become corrupt?
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 email@example.com. 5-A ii, Mayoor Colony, Alwar Gate, Ajmer – 305007 INDIA Mobile +91 9829071468
Let’s paint these walls red, With the blood of our dead. Of the lost and wounded, the sad and depressed. Let’s paint that chair green, With the leaves of the trees. The trees cut down, every day, week, month, year.
Somewhere in a dusty corner lies a memory of you. Neatly folded into a perfect square. Tucked away precariously amongst identical pages of denial. Sometimes, it threatens to burst into flames. But layers of conceit (both yours and mine) douse