Satish Verma Poet I do not know?

Descending

i  make ready myself for an insult
and chest pain, keeping unshorn hair like nettles
on contours, to take unknown turns for restoring
the clouds on moon-blue hills, spreading the water colors
on trees; someone inside the shrine was making
turbulence: yellow room has the footprints of
a naked fakir, after the apocalypse, who walked eyes closed
on the burning ghats, his rags are now worshipped,
the later years found the darkness
glowing in the furnace of propped up body
by roses,roses all the way, he tells the
hanging man, how tall were the poles, with song



SATISH VERMA

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Satish Verma September 21, 2009 at 9:09 AM Carol. Thank you.I know You have been commenting on my poems regularly.I had been extremely busy in running a charitable hospital in India.My staff will post the poems but I wont be able to read the post & comments.Recentlly I have delegated the work.Meanwhile I published 8 books of collections. Again thanks. Love, Satish

Satish Verma September 21, 2009 at 8:23 AM Jim, You are absolutely right.I wrote this poem sitting on the deckof my lake house in Oscoda of Michigan at lake Huron. Thank you Satish

Carol Sunshine Brown September 21, 2009 at 4:23 AM Thank you for sharing your excellent poetry with us Satish. As always I wish you the best in your future writing endeavors whatever they may be. Love, Carol

James Marshall Goff September 20, 2009 at 5:08 AM Hi Satish....your fine poem can translate to many cultures with truth....I can see this to represent the plight of the Northern Plains "Sioux Nation" Native Americans who were rounded-up after the (so-called by the pale-faces) 'Sioux Uprising' and hung in Mankato towards the end of the 19th. Century....Jim