by Satish Verma
A little death comes every day
for the lost age.
The fingertips write your name on
ice, to burn in sun.
and still, I will say it was good.
Searing poverty of words
scrambles for a suicide vest.
No meaningless truth can save
the kleptomaniac. After the demise
of a sentence I can say, would
not go for an award. The struggle
to live in some pretentious
sexuality of the curves was over.
A trident will find
the torso of revengeful god.
Appearance was deceptive
in entire race. The father of waves
takes a bird's-eye view
of the verses flowing from the
icy lips of peaks.
Satish Verma
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ABOUT THE POET ~
Pitted against the forces bigger than him Satish Verma has been fighting with life on his own terms. In this savage, violent and raging times, he has authored several collections of poetry in English and Hindi, in concrete and precise verses, analyzing the complex nature of man, history and ancient heritage of Homo sapiens. And standing at crossroads he is asking where do we go from here. His poetry communicates a beautiful, mystical mind exploring the images of nature, trying to find the meaning of the life and death, the ecstasy of talking to moon, flowers and wind in the kingdom of god. He wants to know cannot we live in peace?, Satish Verma addresses the most complex questions of philosophy, religion and political culture in a very subtle but virtual shocking manner. As aptly said by Lao Tzu, The one who speaks does not know, The one who knows does not speak, 5-Aii, Mayor Colony, Alwar Gate, Ajmer-305007 INDIA
Last updated October 15, 2012