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 email@example.com.
5-A ii, Mayoor Colony, Alwar Gate, Ajmer – 305007 INDIA Mobile +91 9829071468
Satish Verma's Works:
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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:
…… Distant Shores
Twilight song of a cuckoo taps the window softly. Gothic tree and drooping sky humble my thoughts.
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.
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.
* 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,
………….. 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.
…… 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
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
Do not stoke the desires tonight, my moon is away on the cusp of doubts. Count you must the needles in heart, of ifs and buts? A fragile truce was anathema
He was not ready
for a stash of negligees
put up by moon, on the trees.
A hanging valley drops the pretense
meets the river on the way
for a rendezvous.
Nymphs are flying randomly