Gert Strydom, 12 november 2015
Maybe we both will be lost
in the back streets of Paris,
or will take a taxi
in the narrow streets of Spain?
Maybe we will rather have to go
to Uvongo or Margate,
or to somewhere on the South Coast
or at Stilbaai or further on
to walk beaches full of tracks,
to experience the wind, the sun and sea,
to know each other better and walk together,
to burn to the colour of a wild olive tree
or if you do really want to
we could ask that strange thing
that hangs flashing in the sky
to take us away to Mars?
Gert Strydom, 12 november 2015
Maybe I will never have any children
and your children that I regard as my own
who constantly demolish me with their words
and try to overwhelm my life with violence and force
may stop and maybe you will lie against me
to procreate a new life during this pregnant night
or maybe I will have to wait forever
on small bare feet to totter
or maybe between the white and black
I will have to hope constantly on conversion
and keep looking for grey arias in the depths of my heart
as maybe things will change with the passing of time
or maybe I do need only to write these words down
and have got to forget of a child with eyes and a body.
Satish Verma, 12 november 2015
Fear swooped on extended mind,
when brain was never silent.
I was never alone,
voices broke all around.
The lead became kinky.
For sometime, I escaped into antiquity for,
a surrogate relief.
The clock prowled for
the graffiti of truth in night.
A programmed psychology
look extra-terrestrial.
The life mutated into a watch
which did not move.
The mob controlled the streets.
How thin was the tribe of fireflies in dark?
The sparks were cold
and stars were warm.
I stayed by the fire of meditation for a
turbulent river.
The movement of shadows made me sad.
An obscene climate inflicted wounds on trees.
Despair & rage, raised a panic in the herd.
Nameless intruders climbed our houses.
Gert Strydom, 11 november 2015
You are so much a part of me
that I do not have to remember
where you fit into my life
and are not able to forget
my feelings for you
and as each day passes
the small little things
brings us still closer
with feelings that are true.
Loving comes so easily
like rain falling from the sky
and the you and I
are truly blessed to be us.
Satish Verma, 11 november 2015
No plaques?
No head stones?
He did not start the inferno.
It was a misspelt agony
in purple ruins.
Pain had no other name!
While thinking of him
I evacuated the matter,
completed the circle beyond solitude.
More I did not break the silence
worse was the grief!
Meaningless threats
had no relevance.
I recaptured the color of stars,
glory of flames,
beauty of crucial controversy.
I was repeating the legitimacy
of alphabets.
Greatness was the idea of mediocres.
Every thought had the dignity
of its own!
Gert Strydom, 10 november 2015
You lightning flash a moment
like a laser beam,
the image of my piece of paper
is taken off
and while you grumble
you spit it out at one side
and can make innumerable more
while most people view you
as a exceptional wonderful thing
but when you do get tired
and eat papers
people have to gut them out
from somewhere deep
in your intestines.
Satish Verma, 9 november 2015
Does not penetrate,
it brushes superficially.
Repeating me, from dot to dot, it leaps.
The ego performs swift impulses
blasting the constellations of simple arithmetic.
Blue sky gives a second thought,
strange colors appear.
Love has changed the skyline
and labels are fading.
Virginal truth has lost its burning print.
It flaunts and swears like a theater.
Bedecked, larger than reality,
second hand puppets rule the master.
Empty vessel pours out faith.
The city walks at dawn,
night lives in metaphors.
Gritty myths disturb the neighbourhood,
salvaging comforts from rumours.
In dreams we hear the clapping of hands.
Hopelessness burns me like a savage fire.
Gert Strydom, 9 november 2015
I do love Africa
and although my predecessors
did pay with their blood
to be able to live here
there is no fear in me
even when shots were fired
as somewhere the signs of the white
is thundered into the ground
as if coming from heaven itself
and although some black rises
through the red-brown dust
and is present in drums
when indunas dance with their spears around fires
and although everywhere there are hungry people
that has been broken by poverty,
and people are praying for rain
while the desert is stretching wide
I still want to remain in my Africa
as after more than three hundred years
even if culture and language
leaves its own mark
we are without any colour
with the sand being blown by the same winds
and only people,
visitors to this
incredible continent
that does belong to all the children that she brings forth.
Satish Verma, 8 november 2015
A patch on my shirt
was growing.
I could not, because I did not
want to remove it.
I took everything, without choosing,
a flag of my territory fluttered
without wind.
Like a marooned kiss on fainted lips
cryless eyes.
The body fails, climacteric defeat evident.
A satellite crashes in midsky.
A star in waste was rising.
Multiple setbacks start,
like the botched transplant.
Thieves were active in dark alleys.
Kicked at slump bodies, like
sleeping on road.
I was always afraid of unknown.
Dean, 7 november 2015
I Can't Wait Til Xmas
I can't Wait To Feel The Atmosphere
And The Wonderful Cold
That Pricks Like Splinter In My Arms.
The Chilly Breeze
And Blissful Breeze
That Cold My Body
And Makes Me Scream Your Name.
My Lips Can't Wait To Reach For Your Cupid Lip
And Your Arms Round Me Like A Blanket On A Cold Nite.
I Feel So Blue
When I Think Of All These
Cuz It Takes My Memories Back To You
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