Gert Strydom, 4 march 2016
When from me she is out of sight
in my innermost mind
her eyes do burn bright
and I do constantly find
some thoughts of her, of her great grace,
as if in the depths of my soul she does glow,
as if each expression of her face
I do intimately know
and yet at times it seems that I do know her not,
that knowing her breaks my heart and takes a lot
but still the emotions of her eyes
in my inner thoughts never dies.
Satish Verma, 4 march 2016
Totality of your wholeself is condemned
life extracts the price.
You must follow on the dotted line,
transporting the truth.
Not striking the shadows
spirit must prepare for,
the funeral of unwritten code.
Insignificant desires on your side
of life were whimpering,
the testosterone is going very low,
and the will to put the signature is gone.
We spit furitively to raise the questions,
to find the new answers.
And the water did not know how to explode.
Looking beyond the emptiness,
like the bit of softness between the grass and sky,
fills the eyes.
Gaping wounds had stunned for a long time.
An epitome of healing had failed.
Non-existence was the crucial point,
for the raging debate.
Gert Strydom, 3 march 2016
How chilly like winter have you been
with emotions of love stripped in the bud
and what dark unpleasant experiences I have seen
as if what love had been between us had been cut
and nothing of the laughter and light that I had seen at a time
was left as if it had been killed by decease.
You are happy as when our love had been at its prime
when you do talk and act with a kind of ease
as if of those happy days there are to be many more,
as if you do not want to be from this relationship free,
as if I am the only one that you do adore
and I do wonder what is to be
while in my heart there is a kind of fear
when in the evening to me you do draw near.
Satish Verma, 3 march 2016
It rained last night,
dampness giving a tumultuous pleasure
the day before, town was burning.
Weeping ashoka laden with smudges,
and sky was crimson red,
You could not avoid this heat and dust,
love and hate; sharing the cooling winds.
The patterns are changing,
what to redeem, what not.
Trampled by death everywhere,
frightened words go for a dignified fall.
We are trading our bruises for moorings.
A happy notebook is blasted,
and motif goes into exile.
World moves in circle
it will touch you again
A strange divinity puts you in oblivion.
The spirit walks some steps with you,
and then disappears.
My grass burns in front of me.
This had been a festival of slaughtered dreams.
Gert Strydom, 2 march 2016
Some times I wonder if God only knows
how I struggle in the depth of my throes
to find the right clear words to express love to you
while I do take destiny’s blows
and even if I say with all humility
that you are far more than dear to me
my words are totally stripped
as if from all meaning free
and yet I do still try to write
as to express my true heart I might.
Satish Verma, 2 march 2016
Repetition of same thought blurs the mind
invalidates the knot,
wholeness cracks,
and a tremendous force unleashes
the insult to integrity.
This is how the time has ripened.
Perpetual, malignant oozing from pores.
Fear enters in our voice,
we start hurling stones
on the icon.
And then, the nemesis takes over.
A dimpled moon tumbles down the tree,
and wolves start howling.
Now conflicts will make the holes in the sky.
Your loneliness is more frightening,
than the dark words.
Unfeeling the light, the sounds.
You craved for the native touch,
which was not coming.
This moment you are me,
brushing against the pshyche.
I am setting you free.
Gert Strydom, 1 march 2016
(for my wife, Daleen on 25 February)
I love you to the depth of the most distant reaches of my soul,
in the innocent ways of a child,
to the places where understanding does end,
but also to the intimate need of a grown man.
I love you further than my life does go
and I love you in each day’s
simple and complicated experiences
and on this birthday of yours
where we have been together for five years
I wish to love you to the very end of my days.
Satish Verma, 1 march 2016
For unwashed beliefs,
and semi –truths, someone wins
a half-bread and claims immortality.
I am ashamed to witness a filthy event,
life’s descent into a can.
The quiet is broken in myriad,
fragments of noisy confessions.
One day older I become today,
harvesting the sorrow.
Laughter did not work.
On the swollen lips of poverty and dirt.
The primal need sprouts again
and again in the spaces,
between frightening steps.
Each day, one more song dies.
When death starts writing
poems on the wall
you are frightened and want to fly out.
The image-making was not sufficient,
grief had erased all the jottings.
The cultural drift was overwhelming.
George Krokos, 29 february 2016
Beware of the dust that gathers with neglect
which can bring in its wake much disrespect.
___________________
George Krokos, 29 february 2016
To reverse the trend, where possible, of an adverse condition or situation
one must take certain specific opposite measures with due consideration.
__________________________________
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