Satish Verma, 3 january 2016
The moon scrambles on
the fragrance of the trees
I think of humility & grace.
think of the secret of death,
honey of life and survive
by holding the poems.
I will ask myself
not to invent the echo of tomorrow.
In my aloneness
I watch the dancing of words,
the white tract of thoughts
without thinking. There are
no holes in heart, still the
numbers build the nest.
The abstract arguments of depression.
Lull before the explosive creation.
Movement of grief
is footfall in dark night.
We always blamed the self image
without perfecting our contents.
Liberating self from
bare hands was the theme.
We could bring the screaming moon
to rest upon our souls.
Satish Verma, 2 january 2016
Using me,
I take a refuge in desire.
‘Seeing act’ strangulates.
I suffer in the mists of defeat,
there is no evidence.
One attachment catches the conflict.
The fading light of moon burns my pillow,
transcripts impenetrable theme.
Conceiving a problem
in the shifting sands, life seeks
a view of words and enjoys the discreet
meaningless movement.
We play the game again & again,
feed our egos. Study the sorrow
and give charity to the torn flags
of pride and hunger.
The fear does not end,
the looking does not stop.
Each answer leaps to a grief.
The chronicle of squeezed holocaust.
we were hurting each other
humming a song.
Violence of non-violence was more evident.
Satish Verma, 1 january 2016
Let me think without thoughts
to measure the mind, feel the crunching of words.
Time to know the meaningless life.
A flock of sufferings; they were all over
and I was looking at me.
In deep sorrow to go back into myself.
Where were you
in the forbidden void of silence?
The fountainhead drops the legends.
The effort to shift the truth is painful.
I am baffeled by the blinks of lies.
Nothing appears to be real.
Wounds transcend the flesh.
Here I am to feel the blindness of fate
the collapsed roofs of faith,
will discover a new god.
Dry and bright speech
describing the healing touch.
I refuse a diminutive role
of firewood to zip a smokeless fire.
Gert Strydom, 31 december 2015
At night when the darkness folds around me
and I do hold you tightly
I hear a swarm of mosquitoes flying away
and in dreams I do meet you again.
You are the one that I do love
as if from the beginning
you have been destined for me
and I do wish every beautiful thing
with joy that is braided into your days,
that the days that do come
will have love, bravery and peace
far past the days of old age
as everything that is lovely
I want to say to you.
Gert Strydom, 31 december 2015
When I look at the unsettling things
of the old year
I do wonder how the New Year is going to look
and what kind of things it is going to bring?
or is my whole life twisted
through dark forces that do not abate
or is everything settled in the rays of a new sun
that reaches with its heat to the darkest places?
Am I like a leave that falls from a tree
being swept up by a wild wind
that blows wherever it wants,
that at times does fall and rise again,
when lightning bolts do ominous flash
and are bound to the power of destiny
when the last words come over my lips?
Satish Verma, 31 december 2015
The journey is brutal when you arrive nowhere
striving for unsaid perfection.
Life drips. Your wounds snap the love.
A tale becomes a twister.
Between the blinds is buried, the window. In dark
a depression fills the room.
The untethered loneliness.
Fearing from self.
A time to become insane without anchorage.
My ruined book becomes a home for spiders.
Bewildered dreams rise like vampires from the skull.
I will not mourn the body.
The spirit walks like the white light.
It was a thwarted desire, to die empty-handed
beside the troubled mind.
Was there a path to truth?
Being, what lies are?
The soul rustling the shadows of mortal thoughts.
The tree finally gives up
the claim for fame.
The roots squirm.
Gert Strydom, 31 december 2015
Today people are not interested
in a creator God
and an angel that does protect with a flaming sword
while they are tied to the depths of evolution.
Even Jesus Christ to whom the Old Testament does point,
of whom the New Testament is full,
His death and the cross does not matter
according to some historic doctrines
and so called knowledge.
Still many people do believe that demonic powers do exist
while others wait on the Cosmic Christ (Satan) to appear
as if he is the saviour of the world
and in secret they go ahead with their works
while they do try to get rid of the Christ of the bible.
From the time of Simon Magus
agnostic doctrines come
and today theososofical people propagate their outlook
with views of blasphemy.
There are people that lecture at theological seminaries
at universities
almost like at sewers of blasphemy
do teach curates about a god outside of the bible
and still they do profess that they are Christians
while they do remove Jesus Christ as God out of the bible
with they break their bond and relationship
that strays away from Him.
Gert Strydom, 30 december 2015
From birth I have been planted
in this country
and nowhere else
does lure me away from here,
even when being without a job
and affirmative action
does scale down my abilities to nothing,
I am not taken from this land,
where I still do talk my own language,
and I still do bend my knees
to the omnipotent Lord God
and even if I am astounded
by the clowns that do govern,
are astonished by the things
that happens in the parliament and in the country
it changes nothing
to me being a white South African
and they can give away their barbaric culture
free and gratis to other people
while I do stay with my own
and have integrity
and not even the whole Africa
can remove me from my country.
Gert Strydom, 30 december 2015
In this distant country
everyone wants to find
An own place in the sun,
and some people want to use force
to get a piece of earth
and want to drive away others
from their farms
and lives
but I do wonder where
a person can find recourse
where there is a place
in all of this
for you and me?
Gert Strydom, 29 december 2015
What fanciful lives we lead:
being soldier, accountant, father and husband
and yet at night kneel at our beds
like small children
in trust to a creator God
always comprehending that we are nothing
but mere men.
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