About satishverma

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

Dream Song

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Will you read
the snow on the grass knitting
the big eyebrows

of moon at night
which will never know hidden
hands of a wetland?

The tears implant
green circles on cheek.
Spring was coming back.


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There was a big question. Why
one was not raped.
It hits the gate of heaven.

The moon has not risen.
I become a victim of an elegy
before my demise.

Thus I am back to square one,
when I had not fallen in love
and you were still in errancy.

Pleading for levitation in tender
zone.It was the blackbird
which was not ready to swallow a moon.

Scaling the peaks without climbing.
I am going to bring down the milk
of an artist, who would not
paint a goddess.

Still Counting

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Digging the fossil
foot. Satisfied less
I want my old coin.

The early call was
for preacher, who will not
get up by funeral.

Books are ugly.
Will write magnolia.
The yellow waxy monk.


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Sighting the plankton,
it was the moondown
entry, of heron
in the lake.


Flawless, a big fish
eats the small fish.
It was not a
faux pas.


The animalism
outreaches. Would you
now go for a
favourite deity?


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On marbled lids we
stretch our arms to collect
the frozen tears.

Will you stand up
for a final good bye
kissing the eyes?

A dewdropp was –
the strength of silver, drinking
the fluorescent sky.


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Standing under a
bottlebrush I write a
poem for you.

Something going
to happen. I feel that
future will turn.

Crashing against
a tunnel wall, injures
me collaterally.


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the flesh, now you ask for
nomadic soul.

When ignited, a-
spark follows a dark moon
for a final kiss.

In ecstasy I smash
a door for a door
for the elightment.


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This moment was not
mine. Not this moment had
gone to you.

Each moment was-
a white death lying in
state on the dirt.

Send some tender
shoots of a poem to
bloom on my anger.


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You come home,
to a genocide of sperms.
A storm was brewing
to implode;
cloning a wooly origami.

What was the philosophy
of living indefinitely?
Silence was the biggest
noise of spoons.

You were not entitled
to inherit the state,
kissing the trophy of a
beggared man.

Detachment with
upholstery might work.
Take a candle and
read the name on the
black wall.


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Meaningless run.
There is no meaning
in your name.

Where are you
heading in the rains; –
to find the snakes?

I believe
in myself. Will you burn the
books one day?