Gert Strydom, 9 may 2013
Who killed all of these
these carcasses of elephants,
buffalo and almost every wild gazelle
vulture calls to its mates
and descending, in a dark swarm
of feathers and wings
the pecking begins.
In the distance man drives off
with his implements of war
with military trucks laden with loot,
Who killed all of these
these carcasses of elephants,
buffalo and almost every wild gazelle
vulture calls to its mates
and descending, in a dark swarm
of feathers and wings
the pecking begins.
In the distance man drives off
with his implements of war
with military trucks laden with loot,
with ivory, meat, skins stacked
without a care
to the consequences of his deeds
and happily vulture feeds.
with ivory, meat, skins stacked
without a care
to the consequences of his deeds
and happily vulture feeds.
Satish Verma, 9 may 2013
A stunning hurl of androids
on command, pulled by empty space when
a talking primate decides
the course of universe.
A non-existent living
from moment to moment prepares
a moon man to jump into religion
for salvation.
The wedding of tin sliced,
dumping bodies, of forsaken brides
of gloom, widens the want of rocks
and people give a black-lipped approval.
A plane load of hand grenades
and missiles and rocket launchers
nourish the smug ideas of a watershed
on the discovery of self.
Satish Verma
dickerson, robert, 9 may 2013
Tokyo toyota
mitsubishi kyoto
teriyaki sake.
translation:
September jonquil
you're a little late, here, pal,
the party's over.
Insatiable Sohail, 8 may 2013
My mind is cloudy
Sad and melancholy
Intolerably unbearable pain
That haunts within me.
I want to share it to you
As a thirsty man drink.
Words fail to capture
The inner feelings of my heart.
My state of mind
An abyss of sadness.
Every beat of my heart
Tortures me incessantly.
My pain is roaring like a thunderstorm
But none can hear it.
None can see my crying
Falling down on my cheek.
That splashes over my mind.
The crying of the sky
Can arouse the inner feeling
That every heart translate in their own way .
Then why none can understand
The language of my pain ?
Is it a wilful negligence of others
Or the inability of my cloudy mind ?
Satish Verma, 8 may 2013
Half-buried in a mud pit,
a polluter bares all, body and soul.
Hands bound, ready to be stoned
to death.
A god was going to kill a god.
A dense judgement of planet green
of an unreliable sun
scribbling a code of conduct.
My god, I will go insane.
Save my woods I say. How can
be the adam was so naked running
in a race gene altered?
My arthritic fingers again lift
a mansion of gold leaves, dissolving
the sky.
Satish Verma
Milena Sušnik Falle, 7 may 2013
Tvegamo –
gotovo za negotovo,
lepimo koščke priseg
v mozaik odrešenja,
razmetavamo besede,
ki sladkobno
silijo v razum,
v preganjanju konca k začetku,
da bi hrepenenju ustvarili
lahkotna krila.
Tvegamo –
govorico nemoči
dokončanih zgodb,
ljubezni mečemo v ogenj
senčnega spomina,
z izgubljenim
grejemo samoto,
poravnavamo pozabo,
da nas ne bi silno
spremenila.
Tvegamo -
iskanje doline sonca,
brez stez, cest,
ki bi v svet vodila -
oviti v pregrinjalo vere,
za trhlimi stebri nečutnosti
skrivamo pravi obraz;
besede ne celijo ran,
zapahi svojih zmot
so nam jih oddaljila.
Milena Sušnik Falle - Slovenija
Gert Strydom, 7 may 2013
Each of my forefathers stood their man
and in the evening with a Bible they sat around a table,
from the dark early hours they did already farm
and they stayed trusting the heavenly Father.
Now I do wonder where everything is going
while I dig in my own small garden,
while with sunny eyes my wife watches me
and wavering I do try and cling to the hand of God.
Gert Strydom, 7 may 2013
Far too many enemies were coffined in
battle tanks, armoured cars shot out
and in the roar I could not hear myself shout;
far too many enemies were coffined in
battle tanks, armoured cars shot out,
far too many enemies were coffined in
the endless din, in walls of steel and tin;
battle tanks, armoured cars shot out.
Far too many enemies were coffined in
battle tanks, armoured cars shot out
and in the roar I could not hear myself shout;
far too many enemies were coffined in.
Gert Strydom, 7 may 2013
A news editor do not pray for good things
as misfortune, terrible things are headline news.
An unusual sudden flood, a tornado that destroys,
people dying gruesome somewhere else
draws readers and more and more newspapers are sold.
Gert Strydom, 6 may 2013
Never do our feelings seem to abate
and even summer at its prime
at times against our passion seems temperate
and yet they may grow more intense in time
as between us nothing is just moderate
and the intensity seems like a sin or a crime
while daily we do grow more affectionate.
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