ratnakar d mandlik, 20 september 2015
In nature's guise a deity,
May I call you Almighty?
Embodiment of benevolence,
At times cruelty,s essence.
You are no doubt great,
With forms though intricate,
Master of the universe
With incarnations diverse.
Enchanting your landscapes
Mountains n valleys picturesque.
Embodiment of celetial beauty
You do shatter our vanity.
Oh bountiful almighty
On human have some pity
Since you are the creator
As also their terminator.
Poet: Ratnakar D Mandlik
ratnakar d mandlik, 20 september 2015
Discovery of oil stocks in the middle east
During '70, had started beeline in the quest
Of unemployed job seekers towards Dubai
Scums of oil money then flowed in India n Mumbai.
Typists, carpenters, nurses and electricians,
Affording only cycles flew in aeroplanes.
Middle east had been their destiny n work place.
Hutment dwellers too nurtured dreams of palace.
Wealth n it,s swelling started to differentiate
India and Bharat, NRI and RI, it,s affiliates.
Money they remitted to families at home
Upliftment of clans was their cherished dream.
Less fortunate alas, who could not make it
Were the natives who were hardly hit.
Inflation had robbed their earnings at home,
Poorer they became in course of the game.
ratnakar d mandlik, 20 september 2015
Riding on the waves of sorrow and mirth
Traverses life of human if the sail is smooth.
Hurricanes and tornados with mountainous tides
No doubt to it capsize n it,s doom they decide.
Every human being, being an unique boat
Sails in the ocean as destined since birth.
Joyeous may be the sail or may it be tumultous
Positive approach though can make it picturesque.
Thoughts, if negative make it a trawler
Dragging heaps of grief in it,s net.
Dumping sorrow needs expertize great
Inculcated that can be only by a preacher.
Smooth n meaningful sail of any boat
Ensures good teacher n his radiates.
Poet: Ratnakar D Mandlik
Satish Verma, 20 september 2015
Metamorphosis comes first,
said the path
missing the trail of truth.
Spirituality remained unconnected.
Cunning lies kept on
popping up like bush fires.
Non answering provoked
a wordless war between tall trees.
Non sleeping fears
held the linear perceptions.
Tirelessly the thoughts mapped
the doubts and plunged into grief.
A name was engraved on nevertime tomb.
Show me your tattooed skin,
a proof of a dream.
Don’t push it down, it is always there.
Your basic fear.
You want again to cook a slice of past.
A tragic penetration into darkness.
There is no immediate tomorrow.
You are seeking a burning star,
smacked of revenge.
Satish Verma, 19 september 2015
Icons of evolution and
loud men made a circle
of nihility, leaping high,
splashing the black perfume.
Nicotine reclaimed ne plus ultra.
Lurching thrusts reached nowhere.
Dirty fingers held the prosperity.
The dialogue of root
and earth started a nameless fire.
Hunger stunned the leaves,
brutalized by unmanaged truths.
The sting operated in dark.
Let going the lights,
phantoms were starving.
I saw my face for the first time.
I accept my responsibility
for closed drapes.
Doors were banging in terror
and there were sparks on the roof.
The blind walls squirmed.
It was time for your roadmap
to show the lines,
sign the winds.
Gert Strydom, 18 september 2015
There is a kind of light in my darling’s eyes,
a kind of deeper thing
that pierces everything in me
as if a bond between us
does lie in her golden eyes
and at times I would want it different
and do not want to tell her
about my deepest things
as that which is between us does expose me
so that she really does know me
and it makes my defencelessness great
so that she really do know what she means to me
as if every moment does confess my dependence of her
and as if I cannot explore the whole wide world without her.
Satish Verma, 18 september 2015
Eyes will speak, not the road.
I am going very far.
Ability to suffer was me.
Landmarks had spinned,
the art abducted.
Was it unlucky for defying life?
Who wore the guilt,
for choosing pomegranates,
for the blasts?
Now I am struck on midway,
annihilating the adequacy,
the thrust for good and bad.
I survive the stink.
Blood spilling on quivering lips,
that God was nowhere in sight.
Joe Breunig, 17 september 2015
God can convert my valley of trouble
into an unstoppable gateway of Hope!
With gladness and joy, I still know
that He gives me strength to cope…
with the issues of the current day.
By the grace of God, I’ve been saved;
therefore, I’ve been set free from
the sin that draws me to the grave
and claims my interim, dust covering.
Quenching the dryness of my existence,
Christ’s grace allowed me to succumb
to the pressure of Faith’s insistence.
My heart was pierced with His Truth,
causing my spirit to gain its sight;
now I’m eternally grateful with joy,
having been brought His direct Light!
Author notes
Inspired by:
Hos 2:15; John 3:16-17; Jer 29:11-13
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Gert Strydom, 17 september 2015
Joshua, the man that helps me with my garden
says that my garden this morning
is jumping around with joy
and is dancing around with beauty
as there is something in the early spring
that draws a person to want to sing.
In three weeks
a great change has come
after the last grip of the grim winter
has been expelled
by the hot sun
and the first rain of spring.
There are blue, yellow, brown, turmeric coloured,
purple and pink irises that are flowering,
everywhere there are white, purple, yellow and deep red daisies
and marguerites
and the scent of white jasmine is right through the garden.
Geraniums in red, orange, pink and white
and some with mixed colours
are flaunting more beautiful than the other
and violet and speckled pansies
and pink, orange, white and yellow gazanias,
white, red, yellow, pink and orange roses
are luring bees, butterflies, doves, weavers
and even starlings
to visit the garden.
Satish Verma, 17 september 2015
We listened deeply to the sounds
of seed power of duality.
I was very restive
there was no time to review
the veracity of benevolence.
It was a flight of songs,
a passage through silence.
The event and nonevent,
became burning topics enslaving the angles of lips
and splitting the smiles.
If you wanted to feel the truth,
you must undergo splendid mutation,
to read the grains,
the sun, the rains.
Here comes the moon
sailing on dry bones
of our trivialities;
of our banalities,
shutting off our thoughts.
Multiples of our arts,
our performances,
had the plasma oozing
from our buried themes.
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