Gert Strydom, 13 august 2015
The holy Bible asks
who can come into the presence,
into the dwelling place of the omnipotent Lord God
and it’s no riddle that a person has got to solve
as it is clear that he who is sincere
will see the Lord.
Satish Verma, 13 august 2015
The tryst with path,
was full of voices of silence,
confronting its wrath & revenge.
Nothing was new, soft matter divided the winds,
arithmetic of energy,
faced up to its agony of spent life.
Decently artful,
you manipulated the clouds, its music,
the bluebells went into trance.
The shower laden
leaves started dancing.
Half solemn, half smiling
you preached the immortality
of a sick downloaded wisdom.
The golden days had
yellowed vision of time, but mutation was complete.
The masts were broken.
The air was scented with
punch & humility.
Adjectives had the
advantage over nouns.
Gert Strydom, 12 august 2015
Lord, the blood of the innocent trickles in the sand and clot
on the farms and in the cities of South Africa,
the beaker of the sorrows of Your people is running full
and I want to ask for deliverance and for much more than just mercy,
I am asking for Your peace and for true rest
as according to reports people are being murdered and robbed,
from the most distant northerly farm right up to the coast,
and some people flee and loose themselves under neon lights,
famous people are seen at objectionable places
while some people do pray to ancestral spirits and to rocks
and a future and a free life is much less than a maybe
as thousands have been buried with their shattered bones
and murdering shot after murdering shot is being fired
while people are begging and do wander through the land,
criminals do continually kill
and people do die without respect or mercy
It’s clear that a dark force is bringing evil over my people
and even at the church,
at government hospitals
crime and recklessness is being seen
and people do show signs to each other with their thumbs,
cellular phones and jewellery are being robbed with firearms
and factories are polluting the grey blue sky of the old Transvaal
while illegal shacks do stretch from hillock to hillock
and farmers are waited upon on Sundays and hunted down
from the Limpopo river to as far as flat Table Mountain
and at distant places and on farms robbers do strike at night
causing innocent people to die throughout the country
and passengers are threatened on train upon train
as if the police does not exist
while criminals use robbed medicine
to create their deadly drugs.
A politician tells naked lies and do excel in fraud
while robbers, criminals and murderers do never go to jail
and everyone that stands against these things is being seen as a rebel.
There are great abominations in the country like in the book Ezekiel,
people treat each other much worse than their animals,
some Afrikaners are rotten deeper than the core,
while black people dance naked to ancestral spirits in the veldt,
and a dark force is bringing its ungodly practices back.
Each criminal gang see themselves as soldiers,
some people are blindfolded against the walls of their own homes
and others dig holes for their own bodies
while most people are only searching for peace and a own life
and that You are going to intervene my Lord, is something that I do know
as like a David, I did also go through a valley of death
when communists wanted to destroy everything that is holy
and did suffer great losses against a much smaller army.
At the hand of foreigners Eugene Terreblance did die
and laws that oppress my own people are every day being seen
while municipal labourers do strike and rubbish heap up to the yard
and people without hope do visit dancing places and each and every bar
while those that do govern think that their dominance does last eternally
but you do notice the corruption that is being swept under the rosemary,
and You do see my scattered people and the bones of their struggle
as the Afrikaner does know humiliation, oppression, nemesis and pain
and thousands have being killed and lay in the grave
while the wind of abatement does blow continually and people do sob.
Lord, do hear the cries of them that are still following You
as some have become feasting places for the vulture and the crow.
and I pray for peace a place in the sun for everyone
from the rough back-veldt to each city,
and that Your bright light do splash down on the urban buildings of glass,
that everyone will reflect Your love, mercy and righteousness.
Satish Verma, 12 august 2015
Blows had blackened the mist,
fear of crossing the road, dented the veil.
‘Ism’ versus the boundary had a long rhetoric.
I was struggling with scars of learning.
Pain unwrapped the gift of rhythm with confession
bitten by skorpios, blue and cold.
Finding the cause does not solve the rigidity.
Entering my own genome, increases the panic attack,
where I am heading after all?
And today sun beats the unentered thighs
marrow, blood of a martyr, who pledged
to die to himself between enquiry and truth.
Fragmented self now seeks totality
and the mystery of staying alive,
when the hills are dead and green had turned around.
As usual I am meditating, to live or not to live.
The greatness of earth still impresses,
it does not insult the death.
Gert Strydom, 11 august 2015
The wind blew on the beach
and our hands were each in each
while our hearts did beat like one
and all of our yesterdays were gone
but the new morning was just out of reach
while the moments lingered and slowly time moved on.
Satish Verma, 11 august 2015
How sad you had been
without wholeness for the,
price of having broken shoulders?
The people were shedding their skins
to wear new masks.
I was haunted in my sleep.
Sun was not rising.
House to house from face to face,
death makes a pause.
Time sits for a while, when
we mourn in silence.
A scream halts in our throats.
In the courtyard a pungent smell spreads.
Atrophied limbs tremble.
The elegance foresakes the human touch.
The river dries up,
sucked in by laments of earth.
The unfolding of wounds
festers on cheeks.
Lips sluicing the grief,
spill benediction!
Gert Strydom, 10 august 2015
The hands that hold all planets in the endless universe,
that control galaxies in stretched out space
is still busy building you, and me
is mightily folded around my insignificant life
and in nature time after time I see their work
as they are here close to fend off all kinds of catastrophe.
The thoughts out of which man and all animals did come,
that guides and controls all things from the time of creation
is still busy astounding me with intense love
and every man, animal and plant is still mended by that power
as continually that great mind is busy
and where all things do fail God is still working.
The Christ that no cat-o’-nine nails, nail or spear could keep in death
is continually providing my daily bread.
He is present in each daily stress, circumstance and distress
and the hart that trusts Him
does even in the years of old age find revival
and will rest in His soft omnipotent hands.
Satish Verma, 10 august 2015
When your lies pretend to be truths,
Your house becomes full of cadavers.
The reticent progeny,
you abandoned at birth, strikes.
My hands bleed, lifting the bones.
Actuality overwhelms the landscape
like molten lava.
Shadows in the sun, grow larger when,
we are dissecting the truth.
A daunting work to dig out the relics.
We have not modified our speech.
Ill tempered time
makes me insane.
I was not prepared for this calamity
losing my way in a jungle of untruths.
Mighty darkness
pierces the perennial thoughts
in the brain edifice,
knives were out all evening,
emptiness was screaming.
Satish Verma, 9 august 2015
Mirror to mirror
a face floated in anguish
the mourning was deep
whenever inquest for truth was made.
Was it so terrible?
I cannot read the human face.
We were so used
to wear the masks.
Stoned and deaf,
fuzzy kiss of death levels the ferocious peak.
The nameless murder
of truth got a reward.
Garden of strange foliage
slurred on a song.
A metaphysical experience
sniffs the life.
Chained to the probity of the city
I bowed my head.
Reluctant to move in a procession of ugly months.
Lifetime’s nostalgia lifted a veil.
No sleep will descend.
I still carry
my father inside.
Satish Verma, 8 august 2015
Mob hurts you
when you were standing alone in a crowd.
Bending like blade of grass
you accepted the rocks.
Your inner world broke down.
Softly you became a river,
flowing, meandering,
sucking the barriers.
The shivering relationship
puts off the mask,
a catastrophy or
liquidation of a frame took place?
With no regrets, life declares the fall of
our incorruptible icon.
The time and face
changed the color.
Farewell to truth was given!
For the poverty, the dirt;
the shriveled faces
god repented.
Dark lead the dark.
Blasts of anger did not help.
Few feet crossed the path of truth.
Stormy winds erased
the clusters of white roses.
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