che, 16 may 2013
my caged heart can never be free. while you are the keeper, the one that holds the key. even in dreams i cant let you go. either waiting for you, or or chasing your shadow. i catch sight of a falling star. which leads me, to where you are. through the waterfalls, across still lakes,beside the ancient tree. i find you there,,my angel, watching out for me.......................................................... *** i will protect you, i will hold you,,,, if if you will follow me back home. come ,dream with me tonight,,,my love so i dont wake alone..
David de la Croes, 16 may 2013
I wanted to write you a poem,
but there are not enough words
in all the languages of the world
to express the essence of your being.
I wanted to paint you a picture
to exhibit the warmth and brightness
and beauty you bring to my life
but there are not enough colours
in the spectrum of light to illustrate
the intense vividness of your presence.
I wanted to compose
you a symphony to give harmony
to all the music you bring to me
but there are not enough notes
in the musical scale to bring forth
the melodious nature of your being.
And so I write this simple letter to say:
You are my first thought in the morning,
and the last thought at night,
and in all the moments in between
I constantly think and dream of you.
I love you. Always.
David de la Croes, 16 may 2013
You were gone before my mind
could grasp the brush which paints
faces on memory's canvas.
Vaguely, flashes of an open grave
on a sunny winter's day -
bare feet on my fourth birthday -
and pitiful looks from unfamiliar faces.
But I remember lonely childhood days
when I would visit your grave
bringing flowers picked from sandy fields -
And other times I would just come and cry
when it seemed I was the only child
in the whole wide world without a mother.
Poverty sent you to an early grave
and was my childhood's constant shadow.
Of all your children I was the lonesome one,
always seeking solace in solitude,
always wandering in lonely paths,
an exile from embracing arms
and motherly healing kisses.
Through the years I tried to reconstruct you
through siblings' tales of your mothering,
Although heredity ensures that part of you
will live in me and will continue in my off-spring
I felt I needed more than scientific fact
to find meaning in my sense of being.
Death has stripped me of you
but death has no power over love.
I am a fruit of your love, and as long
as I am able to approach someone in love,
I am connected to you. You are long gone.
I am still your son.
Satish Verma, 16 may 2013
Managing his guilts to seduce the nocturnes
he left the gray area, surging
with a wandering death on the
half broken stairs
before a closed gate was put on the pages,
he was trembling like toothed quaking aspen.
The grief of the scarred face,
in a serious midnight syndrome of
invisible slit throat in a long journey manifested
above the waves. Tree was calling again
for immoralism of flowers, quashing
his life.
The brave violence survives the mutilated
dreams.For once the mirror has won
again the onslaught of fingers.
Satish Verma
Shadowpain, 15 may 2013
Lonely leaf filled with grief
Floating amidst the waters of disbelief
Shed its colours into the deep
a climb that was too steep.
Draped in dread and discontent
my feet bury themselves in melancholic sand.
Our carvings overgrown
Drifted apart
living on our own
The statue reduced to a chunk of stone
the soft vibration of your skin that flakes like snow
and pours like tears over that lovely face of yours
and the eyes
of lush spring and blissful green
that carried me to worlds unseen
appaled at the echoes of cheery whispers and breath
the beating sound in my head that is your heart
now like autumn leaves....driven apart
But my dreams give me flight
My memories keep you so close, so tight
The water is cold
and i'm sleepy
i'll be with you soon....
Alicja Kuberska, 15 may 2013
I'm losing hope.
I close my eyes and fly in the air over the unfulfilled promises.
I'm breaking up the anchor, going away hastily.
The thoughts are rolled like sails in stormy weather.
Some of them are just the tattered illusions sadly waving in the wind.
And it would be so beautiful- I think in loneliness
I feel the waves of disappointments overflowing .
Are there the drops of sea water on my face or maybe only tears?
Feelings have the destructive force of a tornado.
Dreams about a safe harbor vanished in the fog of helplessness and grief.
I do not know the meaning of the word “peace”.
Distrust sentences me for another journey.
It is impossible to forget
Dissolve in reality - to become nothingness
Satish Verma, 15 may 2013
Blaze was coming to terms
ith pyrotechnic cascade.
The dignity was emotionally drained out.
The persona turned to anima,
to find out the answer
for quality verdict.
A rogue mission had flattened
the brain. The piano man was dead
and climate was changing.
The safe, warm and wrapped up
seed, hiding in the mouth of a
drowned moon exploded in the silent
sea of telling thoughts.
A trembling tongue will spurt
out translated earth.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 14 may 2013
It was too dark to notice the flowers
of early spring,
the stars were out in their bluest white blaze
they were shining,
moments were more intense in that black night,
doves were cooing
while your lips soft warm sweetly did find mine
the very moment was somehow divine.
Siva Bhanga, 14 may 2013
I loved them both. Then He lost his heart.
THE BAD LITTLE BOY
Whos boy is that? Aunt Patricia'S
BAD LITTLE BOY
Nothing bored her more... She felt like locking Him out the door.THAT BAD LITTLE BOY
Is it Him or us that is strange they ask
Maybe its His name from Friday the black I heard his daddy left home and never came back.
Yes that BAD LITTLE BOY
Sounds like it was all planned... Now he goes about with a Matchet. Dawn THROUGH to sunset.
THAT BAD LITTLE BOY
Sending chills through all they that set eyes Pon Him.
More revered by the people than will a ronin.
THAT BAD LITTLE THING OF A BOY.
Hu brings pain and takes joy.
Its not His fault.Thats what they called Him
He is KOFI THE BAD LITTLE BOY.
Satish Verma, 14 may 2013
What was the ethics of homefires
when homeostasis had gone awry?
There were no concrete truths.
I will not wear the lies instead
like fly ash on my bloodied shirt.
The old habits die hard;
the beds of flesh and bones, carry the
strange innocent meanings of heavy
eyelids which could not beat the silk
of green eyes of a sun.
A miracle was needed to undo the
thighs of mermaid who went to sleep on the
rocks of jealousy. The sky-blue flames
rise again from the navel of infidel love
who had inherited the golden moon.
Satish Verma
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