Gert Strydom, 23 january 2014
Our meeting was a great decision of God,
like sunshine
that comes overwhelming after the rain,
as a wedge against pain
that for years had held onto our lives
and when you did appear
there was a deep gloss on your face,
and a smile with a heavenly kind of light.
Satish Verma, 23 january 2014
In search of peace
the free hand was inflicting casualities.
The kids were buried like insects in a rubble.
Step by step in speculation
the streets were livid with rustic murals
of splintered blood on walls.
The foxgloves had lobbed rockets
on tall heads. Beleaguered
eyes nailed to fire.
I am watching you my art,
to witness the agony of man.
Burn, burn my cupped hands with snatched words.
Satish Verma
Anthony DiMichele, 23 january 2014
names with painted faces
breathless words illuminated
dying is a crazy dream
*
Satish Verma, 22 january 2014
Tell me about the bluetoothed man,
of his stark naked truth, in toe
for a brief pause. The toll was mounting.
The tallest fraud of chilling facts. The city of
cold murders of hermaphrodite. The sex of
meanest level to become rich in seduction of wooly legs.
The wasps were hovering home. The stings
of famous wives.
Predicament of deficit bombs. Motivated artillary.
It is incursion of sterling thieving, of sisyphean
pain. The plaques were becoming honorable.
The spoon bills landing on dry lake.
Bracing the embattled knees, I dismantle my
life to start again from living the
death of beautiful.
Satish Verma
xxxxoxox, 22 january 2014
Lets play a little game,
But the price is a heart beat,
Anyone can join,
But you must follow me,
Down this road of alcoholic pain,
Open your books, Take notes of the scene,
The bottle won't help,
And no one hears their screams,
Stand back and watch,
As they reach for the stars,
But they're too afraid to touch them,
They're cursed by their scares.
Do you see how it hurts?
How the pain never ends?
Remember if you take a chance,
To never tie your hands,
Their screams never stop,
And their hearts don't beat,
All they want,
Is to feel, Like you and me.
xxxxoxox, 22 january 2014
I thought that I could run from you,
That I could leave you behind,
But you always seem to find me,
And take over my life,
I thought emptiness was a phase,
Like smoking dope to ease the pain,
I thought you would be gone by now,
I hoped I would be better somehow,
What do you do when you don't want to go on?
When your legs are to weak,
And the pain is to strong,
Do you wait for a little hope?
That you know will never come?
I don't understand,
How they all move on,
I don't understand,
How they don't feel wronged,
Renato N. Mascardo, 22 january 2014
remembering again
among the dwindling dendrites and dying neurons
where stored memories ineluctably ooze out and
dissolve into the nothingness of growing old
one thought clings steadfastly to the ruins of the past
a face a date a sense of friendship remain
untouched by the apoptotic forgetting in the old
bright flashing embers within the dying smokeless flames//
renato
on 22 january 2014
Geetima Baruah Sarma, 21 january 2014
Dew-drops,
Adorn a morn,
Glitter like pearls,
Cling on to cobwebs,
Rest on petals and grass,
As if to herald the golden sun,
And shine with a bright sparkle.
[Published in 'HighOnPoems' on 21 January 2014]
Gert Strydom, 21 january 2014
We strive in all what we do and we are
somehow for truth,
for something to outlast our humanity,
our dwindling youth
in a world that is in constant decay
but each untruth
in our humanity is buried deep
while in life we yearn, learn, laugh, play and weep.
Satish Verma, 21 january 2014
This overwhelming emptiness:
something to present allegorical, figuratively,
which is not here. Vultures were coming back.
A stimulating dialogue must start
to release the hostages of unknown fears.
The menacing fog was towering over statements.
Everything was turning into coal and the smoke
was streaming from the oasis.
Where we were on the impounded road
unstuck after ethnic cleansing?
The jealous blood was coloring the greed
on the cold shoulders of priested bluff.
The beast loses the domination, bread
and milk of drifting poor. In glass house the
clouds were entering. The dissecting table
was ready to nail the sea of hate.
Satish Verma
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