Gert Strydom, 18 november 2014
The garden of my heart
is empty when you are gone
and its as if every plant
that I have in it does perish
and although
I do give great care to everything
something essential is missing
and I bring everything to inside
and wait like a winter
on a new beginning
and it is as if the sun is away
and as if the frost
does extend deadly cold fingers
while you are missing.
Satish Verma, 18 november 2014
I do not want to become
plaintiff or defendant.
Untethered, I will punish myself
for metaphysical nuances.
Sometimes a silence talks to grieving sky
about a fake truth.
The tears will never stop now.
Give me my freedom to cry,
to exhume the body of justice
and bury my future in memories
I do not sell the dreams.
Eyes tell it all.
History repeats itself
when message dies on legs!
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 17 november 2014
The women sing
David has defeated Goliath of Gath
and the Philistines flee
when David is king
as they are scared that he is going to obliterate them
and David and his Israelite army is formidable
as a omnipotent God is guarding him
with whom at times he deliberates
and God says to David: “you cannot build my temple
as on your hands there is blood”
and ten thousand men fall before him,
ten thousand men and many more
but David has got remorse over his ways
and stays trusting the decrees of God.
Satish Verma, 17 november 2014
To become or not to become a renegade,
or to die or not to die for a semi-god?
These were some of the questions
thrown at an incomplete script.
What elevated you to a celebrity?
Your hump or deep wrinkled groans?
Age is abating, abattoir is empty.
Exile from the past is over.
When you intend to comeback to childhood
and become a simple star?
Behind the mask lies the embrace of death
I am afraid the flames will engulf,
the genius of pathways.
Everything will turn into obsolete gossip.
A patch of sunlight becomes a costly exposure
bones are entwined in eternal cuddle.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 16 november 2014
Are you genuine, I ask?
Your face, a stone wall,
I had been bruising my psyche against it.
I have no strength to bury myself alive,
in the mass grave of lies.
An ancient fear
descends from the hill.
Wants to marry a tree.
Or worship the terror
of a diaspora.
The vultures are dying every day,
We were talking of pregnancy,
desire and death.
The sparrows are gone.
Heat is rising.
I am starting the countdown.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 15 november 2014
Pardon my mask
I will put you on pedestal to torment me,
because you were necessary
for my existence.
When I prepare finally my death wish
you can smile.
Your eyes are looking through my head,
I know,
you were hurt from my moon face.
I will wash your feet with my tears now.
Exhausted, nameless in a crowd
I was counting my see-through triumphs
all piled up as burned out bones.
To live without meaning is very painful.
Everything is abused for self gratification.
Over a black sky, against the mountains
the old silence becomes teeth of a dead faith.
Satish Verma
E. de la Garza, 14 november 2014
Single words audible in the din, bear one moment into the next
In cords of slack memories privately threaded or strung or woven,
Colored by the when and the where of the light and hunger and
Aching for warm scents of belonging to the world no matter what
Eyes create in each ten pound universe shackled to this cauldron
Of roiling myths and the fleeting stench of birth, knowing what is
Believed is the only knowing, not the shouts or the calm voice or
Any words to justify the illusion of now-- and seductive eyes and
Countless paintings locked behind them-- keening for the fleshly
Morsels, livid or rotting, to join the damned in joy and hope and
Love-- an endless montage of believing that the mote we live on
Is somehow better for the fist shown to or the back turned to the
Night-- and cleaving to each other and legacy, clutching trinkets,
Grasping for war and faith and treasure to say, I am victorious.
Gert Strydom, 14 november 2014
We sleep together
with your stomach and breasts
touching my back,
later stomach to stomach
with your arms wrapped
around my body
and in the morning
you enjoy a plate with fried eggs,
toast and tea in bed
and bright-eyed reserve
some sweet kisses for me.
Satish Verma, 14 november 2014
Anxiety was touching the mime
I cannot hold a reality.
We were playing with each other.
The creation and hunger of living
takes you to unknown fields
I am, what I am not.
Always bluffing, puffing on the road,
counting the milestones
in reverse osmosis,
feeling proud of mighty mistakes,
talking to faltered ego,
going against the sun.
My climate merges with hot desert
A story reappears again and again
like a dried skeleton in sands.
How long I will run
chased by planetary fears?
Barbs pierce the tender zones
I see my own demise,
body floating like a flower on lake.
Satish Verma
Joe Breunig, 13 november 2014
Table salt without pleasing flavor is useless,
like a weak Christian lacking “good works”;
for the World is in need of divine examples
of how to live within the Kingdom’s framework.
There are many souls craving spiritual waters,
to have their endless abyss of thirst quenched.
Are we testifying of God’s Love to reach those
in strongholds- where they’re firmly entrenched?
Unless there are obvious and significant change
in the personal behavior of our everyday lives,
the World will have no real motivation for faith
when there’s no evidence of transcendent lives.
We’re still called to be the salt of this planet,
demonstrating victorious lives as saved brothers;
As Christians, we’re supposed to add loving flavor.
We’re responsible for generating thirst in others!
Author Notes
Loosely based on:
Matt 5:13; Jam 2:14-26
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Poetry
Prose
Photography
Graphics
Video poems
Postcards
Diary
Books
Handmade
