Biography of Satish Verma
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
Satish Verma's Works:
http: //arawlii.com/pub-sverma.htm = For Publication.
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- Broken Peace -new-
- Not A Dirty Game -new-
- Art Of Punishment -new-
- My Salt Was Not On Sale -new-
- Burying The Past -new-
- No Vendetta -new-
- Black Stones -new-
- What Was The Great Idea -new-
- It Bleeds -new-
- Close-Up View -new-
- Love To Learn -new-
- When Galaxies Multiply -new-
- Want To Change Myself -new-
- Asking Old Moon -new-
Satish Verma Poems
Turns me on I will write a poem. Delirious moon had
Inseparable the words will be buried in tongue like nails.
* The Dead Tiger
the hunt begins after sunset under cracked moon, blindfolded clouds start visiting volitionlessly:
There was thunder in the hut teeth clattered under the ground. Handcuffed you walk in inequality to qualify for hanging till dead.
To live again, I will not come after dying for you. Resurrection?
A Sunny Wait...
Young days start with a nostalgia for a lost freedom Anxiety was the prime suspect.
A Family Dust
A thirsty town fails, harvesting the moon, and turns into a vast lake of tears. They were fighting for their right to remain poor and hungry. It was a fractured
A Broken Chain
A dumb copy of me. You were done for. Sometimes the design goes awry.
‘crossing The Bar' Once Again...
Beyond the gaze there is a time zone of rumored agitation when you cannot sleep. You open your eyes quietly to complain.
Velvet thorns become signature of my pain and joy.
Marking The Graves
Remaining hawk in voyage of tears, birthing a poem.
…… Distant Shores
Twilight song of a cuckoo taps the window softly. Gothic tree and drooping sky humble my thoughts.
………….. Afraid Of Whom?
Coming out of the cemetry, Faith, does not tell you the truth. Becomes chaste innocence, Of imbeciles.
A Living Soul
Anxiety was touching the mime I cannot hold a reality. We were playing with each other.
Rains Are Coming
Sleep me, conceive me like sphagnum;
propel me to essence of death.
Seeing has put me behind the truth,
Like centipede, fear crawls in deep blind cave
throwing the feelers.
The gene has faltered. No red lights.
A paw, a blackboard, white lines
message is not clear.