Satish Verma, 17 november 2015
Face of terror was
chasing you in the dreams and
voilence made you sick of the
evil designs.
We must unpack our grief.
Hurts were huddled under the smiles;
times were stypefying.
I grieve for the dead
prophet, spread – eagled on road.
It had been a memorial death
fighting the ugly machinations
the days had planted.
A calculated murder of mighty truth
had taken place.
Again a flaming head
seeks revenge
violence does not cease.
The greed was the essence.
The town was full of howling.
There was civil war amongst
the wailing windows.
My heart aches,
I did’t belong to this
profile of naked wolves.
Gert Strydom, 16 november 2015
At a time I was to you like a god,
could do nothing wrong in your eyes
and my car was far better than any other
but somehow somewhere something did change
and you did become distant as if I am a stranger,
as if you do not want to know me anymore
but at times you do still look at me,
want me to help you with your problems
and sometimes you do turn up the volume
of your music system to the very limit
and people have to avoid your room
but just when I thought that our relationship was coming to an end
I heard you say to your friends at the swimming pool
that I am the greatest dad in the entire world.
Satish Verma, 16 november 2015
When the night was swamping him
with epileptic frame
he was walking without limbs.
The awakening was painful.
Drinking his own blood
breaking his own bones.
This largesse was tempting.
No guaranteed death,
you will live with grenades.
Grief was priceless.
Only nightingale will exercise
for the fallen miracles.
He declared at incendiary pyre
to become a phoenix
which never was.
It was an ethical question
to laugh or to weep.
Man was made unmade.
Irena, 15 november 2015
When spring comes
in the middle of winter
And it strikes you,
with all its colour,warmth and scent
And all the rains fall upon you
The moon and the sun and the stars
And the wind
Gather all around you
And the rivers and the streams
And the birds and the sheep
And every single stone
from the beginning till the end
of your journey
They all come with spring
In the middle of winter
Satish Verma, 15 november 2015
Effortlessly a desire erects
a monument. One flaw
demolishes the image. Stones,
ugly grass & a solitary tree
make the landscape.
Hundreds of seeds go back
to the earth’s womb, never
to sprout. Heartbroken
I stand in the middle
of life, crumbling alone.
How can we change?
A splash of green
ingests a scissor,
that is not enough. A parallel tragedy
strikes. Sun and flowers
are gone, seeking a truth,
not yet conceived. A timeless
fire burns in the temple,
uncovering the heat,
edging towards us.
Freedom from long falls comes,
bit by bit in degrees.
Suffering remains the same.
We immortalize our smears.
The absolute truth
suddenly becomes a lie.
A myth which balooned
our minds. But brutal
sunlight has seasonal priorities.
Satish Verma, 14 november 2015
We don’t want to
see each other naked.
with our barbs.
Seeking the truth outside
our body was painful
we don’t want to change
the clouded mirror of water.
The desires were unlimited
and restoring the metaphor needed time.
For contributing for the unbroken becoming.
I held the water in my palm.
It dropped like ciphers
on the hot earth subtracting the charm.
We knew each other,
still falling ego was always revengeful.
My empty hands would seek another title.
A solitary ingredient made the old song.
Few will remember the wings and sky.
The anger’s haste had mauled the body.
Day after day false claims
were made to regain the soul.
The search for the sacred
will remain futile
I stared blankly.
Joe Breunig, 13 november 2015
After I’ve accomplished
my duties of this day,
I still don’t deserve
Your goodness and sway
of Your Spirit in me.
Quiet peace in my heart,
reminds me that I’m…
your servant, imparted
with the grace of being
cherished as Your child;
with Your Presence, I’m
spiritually beguiled.
To speak with You daily,
is a privilege of prayer;
our conversations show me
the depths… of Your care.
Author notes
Inspired by:
Luke 17:7-10
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Gert Strydom, 13 november 2015
(after N.P. van Wyk Louw)
Into loneliness
caught between the silences
of four walls
I did hang your paintings.
For a while I was captured
in our past,
but do now realise
that no light shines upon my hope
and do throw the hope, longing,
pain and even the heartache
into the darkness of the night
so that only the moon
and stars are witnesses
of that which at a time had been between us.
[Reference: “Skreeu” (Shout) by N.P. van Wyk Louw.]
Satish Verma, 13 november 2015
The decline was steep.
Somewhere the clouds burst in tears.
Sitting on the flat prejudice
we weaved a gift of poison for everyone.
It did not stain our shirts.
The big fat people moved about
with great confidence to change the world.
I suffered inwardly.
Perhaps the greed drank
from our passions.
A spectre of hounding.
Which never stopped.
My parents knew better,
always talked of comportment.
Llike our love for neighbours.
The turmoil drifted now in our hearts.
A self-potrait became
the vehicle of death
I visited myself,
to wind up the matters of concern.
The graffiti on the abandoned
walls of memories erased
time, altered the wounds,
and trembling shadows.
Sunrise will provide me a lesson.
Gert Strydom, 12 november 2015
Maybe a new tomorrow is just a wish
where everything will be better
without any pain or fear
and maybe you can get
a prospect
of a place where everything is better
where people live together in happiness and peace
and where there is more than just forgiveness
where people do continually astound you
and love comes to meaning and reality.
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