Satish Verma, 25 march 2016
Winds define the path now, in order not to submit
the discovery of another guilt.
The glory stumbles.
Before the altar, man becomes a souvenir.
Mechanically you walk like a robot, proud and erect,
cannot commit suicide.
Secret of discovering a faith was, not to kill yourself.
Shivering in awakened reality,
you grope with cauterized vision,
to resolve the conflict.
The revelation does not come.
Unchained freedom will come late,
when you become the destiny.
Everseeking a revolution, brain will find a false excuse.
The archives do not give a clue,
not exactly the circumstances,
but history collected the dirt.
Concepts could not bring out,
transformation of a prejudiced spirit.
fear and stuffed silence had the answer.
Satish Verma, 24 march 2016
Solitary moon makes a silent ascent,
penetrates into blue sky.
Night is cool, careless,
throws long shadows.
Undulating wind unfurls a tree.
My thoughts are pinned down to a nostalgia,
unbutton a grief.
Even the death has a charm.
Into every choice there is a hollowed one self-center,
anxiety begins, makes a crouching trail.
It is the untouchable, stillness, which hurts.
Passon for survival softens the blow.
I become moment of truth filled with anguish.
Another life begins with swooping dawn,
the soul sprints out of the emptiness,
darting on the brink of darkness.
The sun seeks the windy arms,
the innocent side of the world.
Soon the day will ride on antimatter.
Satish Verma, 23 march 2016
I am writing off all the symbols,
will not wait for the judgement
and cross the boundaries.
I am not you,
I am not him,
a blemished soul
it wants to be set free.
Conjugating fever at large
colliding, colliding with guts of needles.
Tasting ambrosia of pain,
oedipus asking for another name.
I am offloading the ancient guilt
give me some time.
I do not want any clouds to follow me,
my words are scented with streaks of blood
and shine when only the cinders arrive.
Renato N. Mascardo, 21 march 2016
it's the
sparrow that pecks
first at the newly strewn
seeds a lowly forerunner of
the flock
renato
monday 21 march 2016
Gert Strydom, 21 march 2016
My heart has gone quiet in me
and this is not from tranquillity
but from the sadness and all the hurt
that I do continually experience and see.
Gert Strydom, 21 march 2016
Come to me in the brightness of a day
or in the darkness of the night
and then let be whatever may
even if it seems wrong or right.
Come to me in the experience of a dream
and do compassion and love freely give
as there is much more to life than what it does seem
and with you I do want to constantly live.
Satish Verma, 21 march 2016
Here again we are standing against
the wall of silence,
time has made us partners of sorrow.
Merchants of terror have spread their
wares
on the road. I was only a name.
Hundreds of miles fear was darting
no body knows who will become unfaithful.
Prayer demands subjugation.
Life sucks the laughter, we want to
go back to childhood,
shut the eyes and recite the hymns of
history,
when prophets were roaming in
neighbourhood.
Gert Strydom, 20 march 2016
(in answer to Cornelius van der Merwe)
Out of the hell coming from stuttering Ak-47’s,
RPG-7 rocket grenades that destroy armoured-cars,
Stalin-organs that sing their deadly song,
T-55 tanks that circle in closer
men did return from the other side of the border
posthumous, wounded and bush-fucked
with every battle and the war won,
thousands of the enemy shot to pieces, killed,
their battle-tanks and armoured cars changed to scrap
so that even the Russian commanders realized
that against these brave men
they could not win.
Today these white citizen force soldiers
are seen by the government
almost as war criminals
and a monument had been built on a hillock
where they are not even mentioned,
where those that lost the war are esteemed highly
as the victors,
so as if history
can be turned back
by a corrupt black regime.
No revolution at Soweto, Langa and Nyanga
did force these Afrikaners to their knees
and in their God was their only salvation
against a vast majority of enemies and deadly weapons
in their fierce struggle,
but a bold-headed man (the leader out of own ranks)
did silently with his whole cabinet
walk over to the enemy,
and each other Afrikaner whose blood did flow
was betrayed and robbed from a chance of a existence
and around his head the Nobel price was hanged,
in his own glory, by himself being messianic
he was caught for long moments
as if he was bringing peace, while the death
of white farmers now circle out wider and wider
in the thousands.
[References: “En die omega” (And the omega) en “Soldaat môre” (Soldier tomorrow) by Cornelius van der Merwe.]
Satish Verma, 20 march 2016
Today I am drunk with pain due to fragility
of reason.
Ungrateful city has defeated me.
I do not want any help
One piercing of morality is sufficient
to kill the portrait.
I have promised myself to commit my
hunger for a flame
which should burn probing the pickled
bones.
the kindness is tied to a smell of terrible
prophecies.
First pray for sanity and then smash
the book.
I will be trembling throughout the night.
Renato N. Mascardo, 20 march 2016
dark sentinel
like an
apparition
a blackbird stands on the
stone rampart immobile silent
at dusk
renato
saturday 19 march 2016
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