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


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Beach walls? I have
lost the moon again,
in red wine.

The breast milk? Was
it a sexiest remark?
the fetus was still inside-

the womb of a closed-
circuit television. I had
the sharpest sight

in dark. You like
the pussy. It purrs, around
my ankles, when I

talk to a pregnant future.
Give me my croci.
I want to make my tea purple.

A Pilgrim’s Woe

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Strange. You want to protect
the house after the attack.
Debunking the grammar. Take
a look at the cavernous eyes.
Do you find any rains?
Refresh drops. You will
need them, once a while.

The life. Hides many grudges.
It was scorching. A country
of cantos in politics. The-
language keeps on changing.
What was next, nobody knows.
The trees were there, the birds
there, but there were no leaves.

The Myth Of Domain

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Tension grips:
when you try to open
the jarred doors-

of the death.
It was on old friend,
on the cusp-

selling the dirt.
Was it the ending of
the beginning?

Who will go
beyond the dead
to find the immortal?

You have left
many cantos unfinished.
I will try, will try

to join the dots,
the dashes,
the parentheses.

How Many Times

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Sitting at a funeral;
in ashes, you search-
the faces of dead. To
shut down the apostrophes.

How far was your home,
you don’t want to
go back? A black moon
invites the tallest flare-

of the sun. Bright
death will ask no compensation.
You can travel over half-
memories of frozen pain.

Hourglass to Kundo clocks,
you were collecting all the
souvenirs to stall the
translations from coast to coast.

A Sneak Preview

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Hold your saliva.
The kissing syndrome,
is on prowl.

A threat looms large;
over the face on the face
of most beautiful eyes.

Are you fascinated by the-
picture of shedding the skin?
The reptile was most venomsus.

Strikes, when you are
sleeping. Floats into your house
when it is dark.

A remake of the horror
of holocaust? Will it
affect your lips?

Waiting In Wings

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Tell me. Tonight,
when your mind goes blank,
where the smoldering words
will go?

Half-submerged is the harvest
moon. There are splotches
of clouds, but no
clear invite.

Aerial moonlight.
tells the age of tallest pine.
I will not climb the
Everest anymore.

Sky now plunges deep in
an abyss. I will embrace
the upturned terra ferma
and write a new poem.

The Flash Point

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The double-edged truth
had the exoticism. The blood was
in air. A blue bird draws
a red line, indulging in spiritualization
of a gray design. The testosterones
chart the trajectory in the flame
of the forest.

You deploy your army in zero
hour. Colored leaves start casting
the spell. You listen to the rustling
of skirt. Moon was walking in.

A pink sword and sharpened
claws. After the vulture hit,
the death wil swoop down on you suddenly.

Wild Dreams

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This was
a prelude to a prefix.
I want to stretch
my arms
to reach your moon.


Why did they had
to go,
the night,
the caper,
the moon!


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A deep kiss.
of exTreme love
for the death;
milky way.

the numbers
from infinity.
Will you find one day
a big Zero?


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Read it,
or do not read
the road map.
Something has eaten into your wings.
You will not be able to fly
in the silent valley.


The clay gardens.
You always loved, the eccentricity.
A meltdown
refrains the sequenced
shyness. There will be
no moon tonight.