Gert Strydom, 8 july 2015
I did shave and shower,
did drive my car out of the garage
while my wife and children were still sleeping
and already I longed for meeting my family again in the afternoon
and I did twist through the busy traffic to Johannesburg,
did wait on the escalator at work,
did pin in a security code at the right office
and the day at the office did begin
and when on an afternoon I did come home
my children were away at university
and the signs of the years were already on my wife
when like always I held her tight
and outside the weavers did frolic in a big oak tree.
Magat, 8 july 2015
Each and every
little girl wants
to have
a castle.
Each and every
little girl wants
to have
a dress.
Each and every
little girl wants
to have
a crown.
Each and every
little girl wants
to have
a prince.
I'm not like
other girls
so I want
the wolf.
And he got me.
Gert Strydom, 8 july 2015
That you are lovely
the whole wide world does know
but how we do feel about each other
that we are meant to be together
not one person does know,
not even your family
or circle of friends that gets wider and wider,
not even the postman who brings my letters to you
and this piece of paper
cannot keep it a secret
and it does blab out what it knows
that you are far past beautiful.
Satish Verma, 8 july 2015
An evening primrose glides,
on my rough hands.
I pluck a laugh from the lips,
of a parched face.
It knows the meaning of death,
kissing the pink eyes.
Of the lost fidelity
and the innocence of the dying sun.
How to tell myself,
you are not coming.
Gradually the house,
will go back to its still air.
The white ants,
will draw a pattern
on the stale books.
The traffic of private tears,
will begin to move.
The truth is a happening,
with all the little gods.
I demand nothing,
only pink rose buds, of early winter.
There is no one to know,
that weeping grass,
keeps me touching,
holding my toes.
Satish Verma, 8 july 2015
Over the lake
moon was hounded out
from the dark clouds
into the defying blues.
The thick orbit hauled up the debris
of falling stars.
I was watching the crowd of centuries
piling up in history.
Global heat was settling
on the flutings
to start a black magic
of secret fear.
A hermit sitting on a glacier
melts into a cave.
God knows how the stunned
colossus will stand up.
Gert Strydom, 7 july 2015
This morning a lovely girl woke,
showered under hot water from a tap,
dried her hair and curled them with some tongs
before she was dressing
in a neatly ironed blouse and skirt,
got some orange juice from the refrigerator,
fried some eggs and made some toast
and poured a cup of tea
and her eyes were blue and happy as the sky,
her smile was brighter than the sun
and she watched cartoons on the television,
saw in the news
what was happening throughout the world
for some reflection and moments of fun,
before her working day begun
and I do sing the song of the body electric,
the one of technology that is a blessing,
where everything is functioning perfectly
on the power coming from a wall plug
and we all live happy, secure and snug
where no ESCOM South Africa does cut the power off.
Gert Strydom, 6 july 2015
No one can remove
God's great love
and even though odd
that great love of the Lord God
is forever mine
and nothing beats that love divine.
No words can ever describe every bit,
the depth and sincerity of it
as it goes beyond time and space
and is present in every moment and place
and I do know
of His great grace that does glow
brighter than the sun’s rays
and even in my darkest days
His love is strong and pure
and the power of it does endure,
every morning it is fresh
as if of all people God does love me the best.
Satish Verma, 5 july 2015
My garden cries for no reason.
Kindness melts into a rain
of twisted petals. And that is it.
Alone I whisper the translucent words,
watching the death of dreams, living fossils.
The sun bakes the seeds.
The essence will not heal,
this bandaged soul,
the conceptual death of a thought.
This fear is like a curled snake.
Must I abandon the path? I know,
I will not forgive me, at this dim joint.
I must move.
I do not know, what to think,
how to catch, the poetry of night.
The light blinks on my eyes.
I walk in the shadows of sounds,
smashing the road signs.
Satish Verma, 4 july 2015
My garden cries for no reason.
Kindness melts into a rain
of twisted petals. And that is it.
Alone I whisper the translucent words,
watching the death of dreams, living fossils.
The sun bakes the seeds.
The essence will not heal,
this bandaged soul,
the conceptual death of a thought.
This fear is like a curled snake.
Must I abandon the path? I know,
I will not forgive me, at this dim joint.
I must move.
I do not know, what to think,
how to catch, the poetry of night.
The light blinks on my eyes.
I walk in the shadows of sounds,
smashing the road signs.
Gert Strydom, 3 july 2015
I know a man
who accounts the businesses of others
and then do calculate
to let those businesses become his own
while he drinks a toast
on the demise of those that do compete against him.
I know a man
who did take over his father in law’s business
on his father in law’s insistence
and that man do make fools of people
who did work all of their lives
to make that business successful
to be able to get rid of them.
I do know people that without any merit
do fill positions
without a clue how to do their own jobs
and who do ride on the backs of other people
to get the work done
and they have been affirmed in the places of others
and do not contribute any great thing to their jobs.
Still destiny does walk on its own path
and do unexpectedly strike
while with time the existence of every human being
does run out.
What kind of calculations will these people make
when the great Accountant does come
and what will their answers be to Him
when their accounts are continually out of balance?
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