Gert Strydom, 10 september 2015
I thought that words
would draw you closer to me,
but words set us apart literary
in the real sense
and forever you and I
will never be coming together with words.
Words although magic
are always reaching out
to someone else,
as if you see
each and every poem
as competing against yours
and never do we bond
by the skill of words
and even the words written to you
carry their messages
but do not really hit the mark
as if I am only giving blank pages
with absent messages
and my writing more and more
does create less for you.
Gert Strydom, 10 september 2015
When I read in a great poem
that humanity lies beyond
the borders of life and culture
I saw the poet hope
as if peace
would suddenly come down from heaven
and I did wonder if it was possible
to remove the animal from man
who rather wants to tread down,
vituperate and steal?
I did become to realise
that the people in whom
the in dwelling of God does lack
are filled with darkness
and like barbarians they do believe
that violence is the last resort
and still it did not take the bullet
out of every firearm,
and still it did fail
to make anything else of the Panga blade
than a deadly killing thing
and the reality of the unknown robber
who sneaked around with a knife in the back of my yard,
my two cars that were stolen,
the loss of my work,
and affirmative action
does still threaten my life,
does force me down upon my knees
to pray to the omnipotent God.
[Reference: “Woorde” (Words) by Vincent Oliphant.]
Gert Strydom, 10 september 2015
When I heard the learned professor
lecturing in mathematics,
talking about parabolas,
about calculating some interesting things
like division approaching zero
and the limit applying to it
I saw you, your breasts
and my thoughts were led astray
trying to calculate the circumference,
the curves and shape of your breasts
and I was truly blessed
when you blushed and smiled back at me
and I thought about your perfect body,
a thing that only the creator God
had the ability to calculate and to construct.
Satish Verma, 10 september 2015
Let me change the contours of life,
polluted mind-set.
Spider webs have
elective sites of emotions.
I want to open a new range,
to locate the corrupt moments.
Turn over your face,
let me find the scars.
The soaring pinnacle,
fatherless fame, were declining.
The rot was setting on
the fresco of the wall.
Aspiring for god-head
they have choked the fluiting.
Hands and eyes are cadaverous,
unmoving. Sun is burning very hot.
Not tomorrow,
today we have to bid farewell
to neutral day.
Life will not spare the casting.
Too much mist
has settled on the eyes,
raining madness on the road.
Month and years
are giving incontinence.
Bunny Crunch, 9 september 2015
You used to crown me with new glory
You were the best part of my story
You were a wonderful, colorful king
And to you your praises I would never cease to sing
You have no conception of how hard I tried
To always make my heart a place where you could hide
Every piece of your story I would treasure
Even though it gave me less than pleasure
When stories of trauma you had assembled
I started to cry and my hands quickly trembled
You didn’t let me hug you then
Nor any time you told me again
You wanted me there but would shove me away
Saying with you I’d never be okay
Yet still at our parties I’d give you a toast
For this was the time when you needed me most
Even though you would never quite swallow your pride
To be there for you I tried and I tried
Slowly but surely we drifted apart
Just like the fibers you’d stolen from my heart
I should have known you’d never be there ‘til the end
Should have known you would leave like a fleeting trend
One night in your palace, you said I wanted more
I didn’t, and yet, still you forced me to the door
Your actions were strange, yet the greatest sin
Was making me think you’d ever let me in
Why did you ever make me think
That of closeness we were on the brink?
I gave you all my time
I let you stop me on a dime
And this is how you pay me
By saying cruelly mine you’ll never be?
Your words were degrading
And your guards came parading
I didn’t understand why friends we couldn’t be
Simply because of the woman I called me
You used to want to cheer me up
Now all you do is fill my cup
They tell me I should go get drunk
Or lock your mem’ry in my new car trunk
But this kind of pain whiskey just can’t facade
One I away from just cannot trod
You left me in the dark, in the shadow of your guards
Seeming to care not that you left my heart in trembling shards
Because I tried to enter into yours
With your words you struck me with a thousand two by fours
You’ve said before you know this pain
But from it nothing you will gain
For I’ll win this battle
No need to raise cattle
For I have my strength and that you can’t take
Even though my heart and will you can break
Woefully, I’m done with you
For there’s no more that I can do
With tears in my eyes
I bid you my goodbyes
With me still resonates your claim that you never felt a thing
But I suppose this is all too fit for a king
Gert Strydom, 9 september 2015
(after Toon van den Heever)
In the summer sun the great colossus rises
where paltry yet gigantic he still stands
with his eyes looking northwards
and his gaze sweeps right through veldt and bush.
Still he struggles on without being swayed
and his whole being is fierce and always true
as if nothing can stop that keen eyes
and his gaze sweeps right through veldt and bush
to find liberty whatever it does cost,
beyond him lies death that could not break a people,
it’s the hope of a free existence that is looking
and his gaze sweeps right through veldt and bush.
In the summer sun the great colossus rises
and his gaze sweeps right through veldt and bush.
[Reference: “Die beeld van oom Paul” (The statutue of uncle Paul) by Toon van den Heever. Poet’s note: The ANC Youth league is trying to remove this very statue.]
Satish Verma, 9 september 2015
Timeless pain and,
painless time were two colors.
On the canvas,
I was spreading, to open the heart.
Non-being touching the vast emptiness.
Life on the moment, played the abstract music.
Was it the fear of blindness?
Indecipherable handwriting creates puzzles,
my laments cannot read.
Truth marches on my bones,
dead bodies do not count.
The interrupted meanings
are taking their tolls.
On the track,
blueprints are fluttering.
Whom do we complain?
Foliage was without fruits
and roots were dying.
And land smelled of hurts,
sweat and tears.
Unbroken oaths and
tools had disappeared.
And street fighting
had overwhelmed the crescent moon.
Gert Strydom, 8 september 2015
(after N. P. van Wyk Louw)
Twilight, twilight
what are you bringing?
I wonder
while the rays of the sun do circle out wider.
There is a new excitement in me
as today is open and I feel free
as if life does hold new promises and possibilities
and maybe it’s the day that you will come.
[Reference: “Rooidag” (Dawn) by N.P. Van Wyk Louw.]
Satish Verma, 8 september 2015
Gently the invisible
strength overrides
penetrating every bone.
The desire was not seeking,
it was emitting a gloss.
Fierce truth was reverberating.
Only the mind was alert,
flesh was hissing.
An intense light
knived my sadness, death wish
it was a legend, I went into a process.
A quietness catching
all the voices of disharmony.
Word by word vocabulary
filtered in my heart.
Priests were prophesying doom.
Instant attention gave a passage,
uncontaminated, closer to the truth.
Gloom was glorified.
Scissors had done their job, few will remember the designs.
I should now think
of a golden sunset.
Gert Strydom, 7 september 2015
The day is unwilling to break open,
as slices like a orange,
unwilling to let me bite
into its centre, in to its deep core
and time finds wings,
passing ever passing
without me accomplishing
the things that I set out to do
to which I sometimes set my heart to
and I can hardly tell the distinction
between heaven and hell,
between good and bad
as emotions are on a rollercoaster
under the spell, attraction
of falling in love
where it is judged to be inappropriate
and happiness eludes, escapes me,
as well as beauty,
or what I find beautiful and lovely
and am I now harkening to small petty blessings
and have to be content with little things
as if the things that gives meaning to life
are reserved for someone else
and the sky, the veldt the world
of my own heart yearns for more
besides motion, hue and actions
that responsibilities draw,
I yearn for you, for your love
and the blessing of your tender caress.
[Reference: “The Glory” by Edward Thomas.]
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