Satish Verma, 24 may 2015
This was my book of pain
with no ending.
Life had two meanings-
Anticipation of today,
and fear of tomorrow.
Time was running out
like sand from fists,
mists were rising,
commentaries on setting sun had begun.
Mind was calculating, computing all the time
the duality of desire.
I wanted to catch the words,
the movement of grief,
the completeness of a thought.
It came as a stroke-
the revelation of self.
We did not want to break
the bondage of problems.
It was complete annihilation
of our identity.
We loved conflicts
we loved to hate.
We adored the disorientation.
The violence of our thoughts
created an empty wasteland.
Satish Verma, 23 may 2015
Tonight I lift your eyes from the face
and paste it on my window.
Even death cannot claim the space
reversing the age.
A bra bomber blows up herself
in a windowless cell,
to get her a name on the wall of silence,
sort of a miracle.
Roses are in bloom
perfume of your life.
Do you take for granted
a claim for the sun?
Over to next moon
I will wait for the night,
to start a turf war
for the bloodied mouth.
Satish Verma, 22 may 2015
Innocent inside the circle,
you reached nowhere.
Dirty hands on the knob
kept the century locked.
Carbon footprints were deepening
under the sun, blue bird
circling in vain. The jealous
moon exiled to black hole.
The dust of the brutal time
settles on the umbrella. I am shivering.
The lies, the religion, the horrible
facts smell of the million deaths.
Who mode the tapestry of violence
into boneless truth and hairless
legs of prayers? Freedom escapes
through the scrolls of flames.
Joe Breunig, 21 may 2015
O Lord, please let Your Light shine,
-in and through me- hot and brightly;
my Life is Yours and I don’t mind
following Your divine directives;
with The Word, I hope to wick away
Wisdom for a disciplined perspective.
I’ve embraced the idea of transparency,
where my lifestyle is straight, tapered
and upright- with genuine integrity.
Disperse the World’s ongoing darkness,
that seeks to envelop my existence,
with a vibrant flame of Your holiness.
With Your assistance, I will handle
any and everything that comes my way,
while I’m blazing… as a human candle.
Author Notes
Inspired by:
Psa 18:28; 1 John 1:5-7; Prov 20:27
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2015, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 21 may 2015
Becoming myself, pricking the soles
staying alive, frozen, mistless eyes.
I bite my tongue,
chewing the forbidden peel of
what you are.
Can you move with me?
With my atavistic welts?
Emptying yourself of all the poisons,
while the space was shrinking.
The golden gate is silently watching you.
Give me your hands for a quiet journey,
they are shouting to blow the dirty dreams.
Every thing is done for the vanity
of the naked paper
fluttering in the annotated fingers.
Satish Verma, 20 may 2015
A dialogue with fear,
to end the thought,
was walking alone on the edge of death.
All the mercy of life was with it.
Gone were the waves,
whispering, back to the sea of mundane paucities.
The sky and the pain were there.
Again a question of collective guilt was rising.
So much noise was coming
without any resemblance
with the damaged certainties.
An act of voiceless jealousy was starting for the ethnic slur.
It will not disappear
a conjugation between light and dark.
Can truth annex the belief
with a half hitch?
Gert Strydom, 19 may 2015
Silently in the west the sun died away,
sunset brought a blood-red shimmer over False Bay
screeching a seagull flew up against the African coast
and twilight came suddenly in tones of gray
while our lips met and intimately we had nothing to say
and in the distance glittering and busy the city of Cape Town lay
while waves licked at our feet and a ship’s lights glowed yonder
and in those moments of enchanting beauty to God we wanted to pray.
Satish Verma, 19 may 2015
Inside me, I take a turn.
By tightening the noose
hangman feels liberated.
In the grave, charred mistakes
waking under the massive ashes
of slaughtered sun, grieve
for the light. Time was death.
Every lovely tree was time,
leaving footprints on our existence.
Seeing the stillness in total eternity
like the calm lake dying on the
other side of the truth.
Of the dismembered faith,
and fear of future, and action
to move with the higher lies.
Gert Strydom, 18 may 2015
(after WilliamWordsworth)
It was at the beginning of the night
when first she came into my sight
and at the moment when we met
her car’s lights were shining bright,
her hair was in the twilight golden fair
and the wind did bring chilliness to the air
while her eyes like golden stars did shine
as if to them there had never been a care.
and somehow I was lost and in love
when with a brilliant smile she did my heart move
and I was dumbstruck by this apparition, angel, and woman
with a depth of emotion that nothing can remove
and the expression of her face
did at a nearer view bring her greater grace
while she acted with adult spirit and liberty
and she was a beauty and not commonplace
and she acted with strength and goodwill
did talk with knowledge and did act with skill
and was gay, thoughtful and bright
and with great love my heart did fill.
[Reference: “She was phantom of delight” by WilliamWordsworth.]
Satish Verma, 18 may 2015
He refused to yield,
and the stars were burning hot.
Night was foggy, and the moon was hiding.
His white, shriveled hands
held the center of gravity.
Obsessively he anchored himself
in the muddled egos and bleeding knives.
Somebody was shouting that the legend
was a big fake.
The pardon will not work. Death was
still sleeping. They were searching
the saboteur when the sun went down.
Winds were in coma.
The ink rolled back from the warrant.
Two faces of pain, right and wrong,
fear and agony, all were him.
He had nothing to hide, nothing to declare.
Walked away in the high tide
in raining abuses, in hurting slogans,
and found his past, buried deep
in the ravines, where only the echo comes back.
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