Satish Verma, 2 april 2016
Without a collateral black magic,
nobody wants to start a currency
of silly thoughts.
All tears had dried up in eyes.
It was time to cry again for prudence.
The spirits of ancestors were dumped together
in a mass grave,
and we elaborated to groom
a new son of god,
after slaining all sane arguments.
Where was the need of pathos
for dying foetusus in wombs?
Let them remain unsung, untold,
we will purge our sins from our gowns later on.
An unprecedented situation has arisen.
Somebody shouted from the past.
came running like a bull
and spilled the cup of elixir.
Gert Strydom, 1 april 2016
(after Christina Georgina Rossetti written for the 3rd of April)
My heart feels like the morning breeze
that whispers through the flowering jacaranda trees.
My heart feels like a redbreast that dances before the rain
and sings its song of gladness again and again.
My heart feels like the first light of the breaking day
that burns intensely with happiness in each ray
but much more intense than these images is my joy
with the feelings that are between a girl and a boy.
Let I pray blessings to those that love and hate me
and from the iniquity of the my youthful past be free,
let my family and friends come from far and near
as there is much more to this day than does appear
as I am a grown man in the prime of my life
with a angel, companion and friend as my wife
and let there be rejoicing on my known earth
as my love is with me on the day of my birth.
[Reference: “A Birthday” by Christina Georgina Rossetti.]
Satish Verma, 1 april 2016
When I am completely denuded
Of my tremors,
I come at peace with my skin.
Burnt by raw blaze of reality
The brilliant confusion of today.
Promising night
selects the partners of grief.
Vacantly I fix my eyes on stars.
The words will never convey the silence
the mystery of eternal search
amongst the ruins of dreams.
Tongue falters on recitation of factuality
Over coming the rage.
Fatal dichotomy of life and death
starts sleepwalking.
Gulf widens the shores
seeking in metaphysical depth.
Speech does not bring solace
mathematics cannot open the loop.
Satish Verma, 31 march 2016
My altered sensorium goes berserk
when I hear four - letter words like nuke and kill,
love and hate, repeatedly.
The decrepit age full of abused prisms
deflects the sunrays for warlords.
Here I am ripened in pain of a withering syndrome,
collecting the live mushrooms
from rainwashed wastelands.
The primrose way of life did not agree.
To become untrue to the whiff and waft of summer dunes
was difficult and I remained entombed in scented air.
Phantasy was a beautiful garden for me.
Was it a desiccated, mental frame,
matured, but manic isolation from an aligned life?
or walking alone in a desert of hidden paths?
But I was my own tailor.
I presume,
evil must be alive in erotica,
the myth of erected columns in history to celebrate a victory.
My brow sweats when I start climbing the steps.
An identity crashed in mud
I felt a sense of depression, flickering off and on,
dying several times amidst the jasmines and bougainvillaeas.
Hiding in fog, a serial killer has been
nominated a blind judge.
Fainting and waking up with hallucinations,
sick in limbs, my journey starts
for violent similes, mindless but full of stops.
My words were not mine. The symbols ruled the day.
The past will always morph into future
but my present will be here
in my flights, weary but strong in veins,
My sun may be eclipsed for today
but the bright century moves on!
Renato N. Mascardo, 31 march 2016
sipping
my cup of hot
sake i no longer
taste its sweetness
gone like your smile
just before you left.
renato
wednesday 30 march 2016
Satish Verma, 30 march 2016
Always struck by infinity,
I was searching a center,
and time was walking through me mutely.
Covered in tremors I was ready to abdicate
the flavours of life.
Exhausted, wearing rags of knowledge
I discovered the finite in hostile virtues.
This was a manic dance full of foggy dreams
scaling the impossible insomnia
and silence was falling like snow flakes.
Silhouette of death hovers around the praying lips,
we pocket the coins of memories
and forget the bitter past.
Perpetual stress breaks the neck
awfully engraving the pain.
I stammer for a barometer.
I perceive you my ghost, a reminder
of my frightened childhood, when I lost my home
in the labyrinth of mirrors.
Cannot stop it, the dark now spreading in the eyes,
My kids won’t understand my hushed withdrawl.
Renato N. Mascardo, 29 march 2016
little sparrow first
to peck on scattered seeds soon
sent off by big jay
renato
tuesday 29 march 2016
Satish Verma, 29 march 2016
Onlooker to your own empty life, you try to conceal
it was not that simple, to confess in silence.
Pain was the first question,
I give no answer.
The smell of pungent sweat
and levitating incense are entwining in the air.
Seeking my own truth, I abandon the path
and fall upon lies.
The lofty drama of life unfolds.
I was not seeking any labels.
Devoid of sanity, the possessed people were dancing,
around the fire without flames.
Fear of infinity haunts me,
I must answer to myself
to solve the mystery.
Of the fragility of my existence,
amidst the sounds of stubborn, half-baked truths.
This is, therefore a part of my poem,
dedicated to a failing god.
Renato N. Mascardo, 28 march 2016
lent ends
easter begins
church pews overflow with
occasional faithful alms giving
bribers
renato
sunday 27 march 2016
Satish Verma, 28 march 2016
A silence speaks up at ungreen
age for an unknown, finding
dark matter in hiddenness
of sleazy light.
A dove in the valley of tulips
stops a flight for a wayfarer.
What was that persisists, in envioronment and bunkers?
Queen bee will decide for a spliced
dawn of honeycomb in a bloodless coup.
The stings were the torchbearers.
A smile comes out with a walker. The
vitals were dysfunctioning.
The end does not need any comma.
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