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 ... more »
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Satish Verma Poems
Turns me on I will write a poem. Delirious moon had
* 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.
‘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.
…… 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.
A LONE WARRIOR
You have put up the price on your shirt. I have started seeing the return of the death instinct. The curtain falls on profile of joy, of giving away.
…… OF HUMANITY
Do not knock out the water from the eyes, each dropp is temple each dropp is death.
For a patch of happiness you rushed into the arms of clouds. Only to fall back with tears. The glazing authority of moon
* RETURN JOURNEY
I forgot, was it me in a body pile draped in dust, still hot, bruised, burnt, a mad megalomaniac starting a civil war, creating suicide bombers,
Untie the knot, patriarch, the broken kiss was intimidating.
A KISS MELTS
Turning me blue blithe thoughts had come like snakes wriggling, biting, leaving tooth marks. I remained holding a dew drop
MUD ON MY HANDS
Green eyes in the crevices of rocks will not let the fossil weep for innocent sun. A mayfly floats like
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
Turns me on
I will write a poem.
Delirious moon had
picked me up from under the skin.
The safety pin was broken,
now a crowd will disrobe me.
Everytime when my pain makes you cry
oranges are not meant for the sale.
A collegium will stich up the wound.
Once upon a caste the country will go.
• On reading Orange Crush of Simone Muench.