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. Satish Verma has published seven volumes of poetry in English and four in Hindi, translated three books of Ravindra Nath Tagore in Hindi. He lives in Ajmer [INDIA] where he runs a charitable holistic institute called SEWA MANDIR FOUNDATION.
Give me the whole
of a fragment,
I am standing on a frozen lake
of inadequate compassion.
The totality of implications frightens.
Look deep in my eyes
you may find the plumage
of the green peacocks. They are gone.
Walk on the burning coals
to perceive actuality. Life slaps the illusion.
Debris falls from a shooting star,
overwhelming the clouds.
Rains will not come now for a while.
History heaps few glares
on the spinning darkness.
The theater runs for an empty house.
Satish Verma
------------------------------------------------------
THE DEBRIS
Give me the whole
of a fragment,
I am standing on a frozen lake
of inadequate compassion.
The totality of implications frightens.
Look deep in my eyes
you may find the plumage
of the green peacocks. They are gone.
Walk on the burning coals
to perceive actuality. Life slaps the illusion.
Debris falls from a shooting star,
overwhelming the clouds.
Rains will not come now for a while.
History heaps few glares
on the spinning darkness.
The theater runs for an empty house.
Satish Verma
------------------------------------------------------
THE DEBRIS
Give me the whole
of a fragment,
I am standing on a frozen lake
of inadequate compassion.
The totality of implications frightens.
Look deep in my eyes
you may find the plumage
of the green peacocks. They are gone.
Walk on the burning coals
to perceive actuality. Life slaps the illusion.
Debris falls from a shooting star,
overwhelming the clouds.
Rains will not come now for a while.
History heaps few glares
on the spinning darkness.
The theater runs for an empty house.
Satish Verma
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DARK PRISON
By: Satish Verma | 05/12/2009unhinged i wake tying ribbon around the tree of amnesia, the butterfly startles, despairs the blue of humility, all i wanted was the silence
HAND GLOVES
By: Satish Verma | 05/12/2009today i am not one whole, placid; blood streaked globe of full moon was hovering over me all night to freeze a ruined landscape, i was
ARROGANCE
By: Satish Verma | 05/12/2009Sometimes it pours like hot drips of melted wax from a candlestick; your migraine.
ONCE UPON
By: Satish Verma | 04/12/2009Robbing the silence of heights to undo the whole sky, you lean on an enigma to become reverential
GOING NOWHERE
By: Satish Verma | 04/12/2009On the blue icicles you were colliding with orbiting electrons
TIME TO ANSWER *
By: Satish Verma | 04/12/2009This wake, I owed it to you, my defining moment: for the raw melding, of life imprisonement and death behind the bars. The sin had
WRINKLING
By: Satish Verma | 04/12/2009Give me not your style today: the visceral truth, liberated from painkillers.
THE SILENT COLOURS
By: Satish Verma | 04/12/2009A mad resurgence of fake locks paralyzes the arched doors of the hidden walls, where the roses squirm under the false kisses of a red moon;
DARK PRISON
By: Satish Verma | 05/12/2009 | Poetryunhinged i wake tying ribbon around the tree of amnesia, the butterfly startles, despairs the blue of humility, all i wanted was the silence
HAND GLOVES
By: Satish Verma | 05/12/2009 | Poetrytoday i am not one whole, placid; blood streaked globe of full moon was hovering over me all night to freeze a ruined landscape, i was
ARROGANCE
By: Satish Verma | 05/12/2009 | PoetrySometimes it pours like hot drips of melted wax from a candlestick; your migraine.
ONCE UPON
By: Satish Verma | 04/12/2009 | PoetryRobbing the silence of heights to undo the whole sky, you lean on an enigma to become reverential
GOING NOWHERE
By: Satish Verma | 04/12/2009 | PoetryOn the blue icicles you were colliding with orbiting electrons
TIME TO ANSWER *
By: Satish Verma | 04/12/2009 | PoetryThis wake, I owed it to you, my defining moment: for the raw melding, of life imprisonement and death behind the bars. The sin had
WRINKLING
By: Satish Verma | 04/12/2009 | PoetryGive me not your style today: the visceral truth, liberated from painkillers.
THE SILENT COLOURS
By: Satish Verma | 04/12/2009 | PoetryA mad resurgence of fake locks paralyzes the arched doors of the hidden walls, where the roses squirm under the false kisses of a red moon;