Gert Strydom, 25 may 2016
He lies stretched out in the sun
in the area next to the rugby field
that is still wildly overgrown at places
where a game reserve had been at a time.
He is safely fenced in,
protected against homeowners,
even some schoolboys
that wants to throw rocks at him
and like a wild animal
his hiding place is in the thick grass,
in the thicket and trees around him
there are birds that gambol
and some are building their nests.
He watches them somewhat hidden and amused
and he looks with mistrust
at the young man
that notices and calls him.
Ignoring the human he washes himself further,
does stretch out contently in the sun
and he cannot decide if he wants to climb a tree
or do want to find his prey in the gutter,
where he watches the world with his cat eyes
which yellow-green
does regard everything around him
and where he lies stretched out
he is the king of his own region.
Satish Verma, 25 may 2016
Treading on burning cinders
it was a saga of fear versus unknown.
Stripped, before drooping eyes
scarred, armless, unflying.
Into the regeneration phase:
not a single word, single concern
of yourself, you walked to arrive
without adding a question.
There was a movement without ripples,
death of the black, mottled, many.
I, becoming transcendental scion
of whole, sincere entity.
Melting to start a romance
in the house of petals,
of fragrant pheromones
deluging the phoenix.
To want the crowd, select a colossus
cadaver spreading on mushrooms in field
erect a man in white bones, unrivalled
jealousy of virgins and gods.
Gert Strydom, 24 may 2016
When I look to my own continent
there are only ruins of places
that at a time was glamorous and I struggle to fit in
the beautiful places where waterfalls does roar
and I see people who are ravaged by famine, war,
unrest and a population explosion,
people who die from pestilence,
who live totally immoral,
and wild animals do disappear into hungry stomachs,
while I am blinded by the sand
as if the desert is crawling
deeper and deeper into the continent
and the political majority does devour everything
until nothing is left for anybody.
Satish Verma, 24 may 2016
Savage absence of you,
I miss your assaults
what was actual in you, I never knew.
Neither flesh, nor spirit
had helped me.
Somewhere there was a planet I missed.
Or a miracle?
Ending of means was the center of conflicts.
Time was running out.
Genetics tinkered
matrix unmoving,
what implants will be needed for dazzling the heavens?
The desert was crying.
Proud generation charred by transcripts
begins singing.
Falling leaves recollect the pain.
Possibility of pregnancy exiled,
the shivering doorway was closed.
Gert Strydom, 23 may 2016
There’s no other country
where I have seen the same blue hue
in the sky, have experienced
the same notion of experiencing
something so pure.
There’s no other country
where day by day
I have experienced the sun
flying up in its arc
like a eagle on its wings
but then one morning
a series of gunshots awakes me
where my neighbour across the street
lies bleeding
with robbers racing away
with his stolen car, passing me in a blur
and I wonder if he is still living,
rushing over the road to try to help him.
Satish Verma, 22 may 2016
As innocent as buds of jasmine
twilight of a falling night
offsets the nakedness of a baby moon,
the subterfuge of a slant lie.
How crooked was the conviction?
Blessing was flawless. Only the sky
had an anguished exoneration
for a particular sin.
What was put out for a show
was hired.
He did not want to become a spot,
a speck, or an insect. The ending
of lonliness had a high price. Give
and take were insufficient. Only giving
was a gift. Duality of ugliness shined in the mirror.
In despair he picked up the replica
of a humanoid ancestor,
who was to become a model DNA
of a simian who was not capable
of becoming adulterous.
Joe Breunig, 21 may 2016
One of many apologetic arguments
is an application of Game Theory,
as defined by “Pascal’s Wager”;
ideas of infinite gain make leery
skeptics doubt a likely existence
of an omnipotent and omniscient God,
Who is worthy of our time and talent.
They believe this premise is flawed,
as they willingly bet against Hell,
damnation and its infinite losses;
the discussion, of rational thought
and atheistic stances, crisscrosses
mental boundaries in search of Truth.
Is finite loss of luxury and pleasure
worth the Christian lifestyle today?
Where are you storing your treasures?
Author notes
Inspired by:
Gen 1; Matt 6:19-20 and
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pascal27s_Wager
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2016, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 21 may 2016
Full moon was negating the intensity of night.
I wanted the sacred smell of dark heaven
which was dispensing the forgiveness.
Did not reach the dazzling height of a star;
even conflicts gave me immense metaphors.
Nemesis was measuring the hauled-up mistakes
For them I was tormented by unknown fears
and the ravings were useless.
Deliberately I cleaned my room twice
to welcome the instincts.
Even the particulars have become painful.
What do you think, can we follow the poem
without a title?
The neighbourhood cracks silently
I am not going to flaunt my lesions.
Bipurna Tara, 20 may 2016
When do I plant,
The seed of LOVE?
Where do I plant,
The seed of Love?
In the summer,
when the rain starts on the drought
or on the drought when
summer ends with scorching sun heat?
Is love a drop in the sand
or
Is love a drop in the ocean?
My love lost in the sand
or
my love drowned in the sea?
Where did I plant?
The seed of love,
Is it blooming?
or already lost?
Questions remain....
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