Satish Verma, 7 march 2016
One by one kites were alighting on the roof top.
Door were banging and a smell was rising
like the anger of a house.
It was sobbing morning in frenzy
before the sunrise, when every instrument
was asleep and god was shut in the shrine.
Splinters had pierced the innocent chests
and blood ran on the stones.
A beautiful day for the suicide bomber.
Pain wore an illuminated crown.
On tower of violence and brutal death
birds are waiting for a feast of tender flesh
from the shattered limbs.
Quietly rises the sun on a decayed century.
Satish Verma, 6 march 2016
An ultimate lie becomes a reality in life,
Like slit in the throat of a lamb in a meadow.
A wounded ego scrambles
for an explanation,
which is not coming.
Who can stop this verdict of a non-trial?
The tragic nonending of a conflict
between doubt and inherited faith?
You search for a perfect rhythm in
a turbulent crowd,
search for a silence in a flaming torch,
in the moment of truth,
when an entity is disintegrating.
Joe Breunig, 5 march 2016
The shape of Love is not a heart,
but that… of a solitary cross;
the burden of Christ’s sacrifice
was a desire to redeem the lost.
For Him, to reflect the Love of
The Father, is unimaginable to us;
such mercy and grace required God,
Who was embodied by Christ Jesus.
By the actions of one man, sin was
birthed into this world by Adam;
and now, through Christ, its affect
can be diminished, as we imagine
ourselves being made in the image
of God, according to His Holy Word.
Through the crucifixion of Christ,
the power of God in Him was stirred
to raise Christ from Humanity’s grave
in the sacrificial act of God’s Love;
therefore, we should mirror our Lord
daily, pulling down Heaven from above
by living with Grace, Mercy and Love.
Author notes:
Inspired by:
Eph 1:7; Isa 53; John 3:16
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 5 march 2016
In the shell lies the eye of a dark sea
I call for a boat in delirium.
Waves drown the hunger of a climax.
I do not know where all the gulls have gone?
Time slips like flesh between the knuckles
and an extra pain of your separation.
I am shipwrecked on the slopes of whispers
and don’t want to have a second death.
Looking back at the years
as a sentence in exile,
I never reached the home.
Ultimately you need the hunchback to
climb the stairs.
Gert Strydom, 4 march 2016
When from me she is out of sight
in my innermost mind
her eyes do burn bright
and I do constantly find
some thoughts of her, of her great grace,
as if in the depths of my soul she does glow,
as if each expression of her face
I do intimately know
and yet at times it seems that I do know her not,
that knowing her breaks my heart and takes a lot
but still the emotions of her eyes
in my inner thoughts never dies.
Satish Verma, 4 march 2016
Totality of your wholeself is condemned
life extracts the price.
You must follow on the dotted line,
transporting the truth.
Not striking the shadows
spirit must prepare for,
the funeral of unwritten code.
Insignificant desires on your side
of life were whimpering,
the testosterone is going very low,
and the will to put the signature is gone.
We spit furitively to raise the questions,
to find the new answers.
And the water did not know how to explode.
Looking beyond the emptiness,
like the bit of softness between the grass and sky,
fills the eyes.
Gaping wounds had stunned for a long time.
An epitome of healing had failed.
Non-existence was the crucial point,
for the raging debate.
Gert Strydom, 3 march 2016
How chilly like winter have you been
with emotions of love stripped in the bud
and what dark unpleasant experiences I have seen
as if what love had been between us had been cut
and nothing of the laughter and light that I had seen at a time
was left as if it had been killed by decease.
You are happy as when our love had been at its prime
when you do talk and act with a kind of ease
as if of those happy days there are to be many more,
as if you do not want to be from this relationship free,
as if I am the only one that you do adore
and I do wonder what is to be
while in my heart there is a kind of fear
when in the evening to me you do draw near.
Satish Verma, 3 march 2016
It rained last night,
dampness giving a tumultuous pleasure
the day before, town was burning.
Weeping ashoka laden with smudges,
and sky was crimson red,
You could not avoid this heat and dust,
love and hate; sharing the cooling winds.
The patterns are changing,
what to redeem, what not.
Trampled by death everywhere,
frightened words go for a dignified fall.
We are trading our bruises for moorings.
A happy notebook is blasted,
and motif goes into exile.
World moves in circle
it will touch you again
A strange divinity puts you in oblivion.
The spirit walks some steps with you,
and then disappears.
My grass burns in front of me.
This had been a festival of slaughtered dreams.
Gert Strydom, 2 march 2016
Some times I wonder if God only knows
how I struggle in the depth of my throes
to find the right clear words to express love to you
while I do take destiny’s blows
and even if I say with all humility
that you are far more than dear to me
my words are totally stripped
as if from all meaning free
and yet I do still try to write
as to express my true heart I might.
Satish Verma, 2 march 2016
Repetition of same thought blurs the mind
invalidates the knot,
wholeness cracks,
and a tremendous force unleashes
the insult to integrity.
This is how the time has ripened.
Perpetual, malignant oozing from pores.
Fear enters in our voice,
we start hurling stones
on the icon.
And then, the nemesis takes over.
A dimpled moon tumbles down the tree,
and wolves start howling.
Now conflicts will make the holes in the sky.
Your loneliness is more frightening,
than the dark words.
Unfeeling the light, the sounds.
You craved for the native touch,
which was not coming.
This moment you are me,
brushing against the pshyche.
I am setting you free.
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