Satish Verma, 27 august 2013
i make ready myself for an insult
and chest pain, keeping unshorn hair like nettles
on contours, to take unknown turns for restoring
the clouds on moon-blue hills, spreading the water colors
on trees; someone inside the shrine was making
turbulence: yellow room has the footprints of
a naked fakir, after the apocalypse, who walked eyes closed
on the burning ghats, his rags are now worshipped,
the later years found the darkness
glowing in the furnace of propped up body
by roses, roses all the way, he tells the
hanging man, how tall were the poles, with song
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 26 august 2013
You follow the rising yellow hot sun,
that ball of fire,
since the very birth of passing time
as a desire
to be in reverent worship of it
while men aspire
to shine in a way and reach for the stars,
to break this world’s clasping retaining bars.
Gert Strydom, 26 august 2013
A tree that welcomes the summer sun,
the wind and rain
stands with its arms reaching into the sky,
it blooms again
during the new spring, in summer has fruit,
knows joy and pain
as it shadow and shelter stays each day
while some children and birds does in it play.
Gert Strydom, 26 august 2013
From the very moment that it swells out
birds do gather,
watching somewhat keen at the ripening,
they do twitter
fly to and fro and in happiness
then eat it to the very skin.
Satish Verma, 26 august 2013
not enough
howls of tormented birth
under a homeless roof, arresting the light,
a bleed from the pungent breast,
you lost the marriage with marigold,
to be grave purple eyed, missils killing
the shrieks, i let a paperweight
sit on the vessels and stop a free run of black
blood from nipples: dawn, it was far
away, the goddess inhailing earth's ice
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 25 august 2013
The peace has a random price;
buried by sea of volition in knee deep puddles of
saline mud, being in being, after the crash,
to keep dissent alive.
Tell me, how did you go in arc light
in the middle of death, plunged in icy delights
of bloody waters? Prevailing withdrawl
spills the counts in endless moments,
of permanence and deceit, a face was
present at one time in two canvases;
the despondency was victorious in kelp,
of arboreal moon, night drips orally.
When the future comes in nesting birds,
I will search the eggs of cuckoo, before
I know you again; the venus-fly trap for hidden
kiss will open the honey glands.
Satish Verma
Yehoshua ben Peleh Shim'onai, 24 august 2013
Who is this daughter that's sweet to my sight
This maiden that's to my heart's a delight?
For my heart's taken by her smile so bright
And captured by her dovely eyes so light.
I beheld her with her peaceful glances
Gazed 'pon her beauty - her soul's quietness;
And I took delight in her loveliness,
Being taken by her face's sweetness.
For her beauty is not of jewelry
Nor of the aesthetics of the silly
'Tis not even of dressing fancily
Nor of seductive speech of her body.
But her beauty is of what is hidden
From her heart, desirable and golden;
Her beauty is of the woman within
And created by the Lord of heaven.
Behold, the innocence her smile displays
And the shalom that I see in her face -
'Tis the true comeliness I want to chase,
The love I'm asking from the God of grace.
The pur'ty in your eyes overwhelms me
Like those of the Shulamite - they're lovely;
Your face of calmness, so sweet and comely,
Is better than my delight in honey.
Your beauty, O daughter of the Highest
Is beauty which to me is the choicest
Like morning star 'mongst the hosts, shines brightest
Like a sweet wine in tavern, the finest!
Yet, 'pon God - should you be the one - I wait
In pray'r and work, holding on to the faith
For your worth is as the espousals' date -
I shall be waiting and shall not faint!
(8/14/13)
Satish Verma, 24 august 2013
It was a searing moment in grueling
heat of your flesh, the racist attack had come
to surface, the blue eyes,
edible gold, in nights
the pink veil of the moon,
I will cut my wrist to pour out the pure vermillion;
a huge umbrella of hot kisses
dissolving the contaminated beads
of musk, like fever;
the smoke rolls down the hills
of collective guilt,
an anonymous warning;
the frozen voice opens
like a black tulip on baby ice,
down under goes the sun.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 23 august 2013
How can I describe you,
your golden eyes that are constantly shining
that is at times hiding your thoughts
and the symmetry of your body,
the gleam that is caught in your hair
that falls soft as silk over your shoulders,
how your glance and expression sometimes catches me,
the intimate knowledge of your body,
the way that you walk graciously,
how you throw your hair over your shoulder,
how you draw your mouth at times,
how easily you start a conversation
and just far too many things come to me
and it’s as if in nothing I can jot you down,
as if my thoughts are only hanging in empty words
and you are in my heart, in my spirit and my head.
Gert Strydom, 23 august 2013
When I can call you my very own
may this feeling and principle last eternally
and to the world our love be known
with only happiness for you and me.
When we both know the depths of bliss
let it be constantly sweet
with something more in each single kiss
and may we each morning each other greet
as if we will forever remain
in love, in companionship, in joy
even in days of sorrow and pain,
as if nothing can destroy
our sincere feelings which are true,
and may I forever remain loving you.
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