Gert Strydom, 15 september 2014
I came to you
and you were in every thought,
were right next to me through all of the dark nights,
did walk with me when the first roses started flowering.
I came to you
with everything that I am
and there was something more than just knowledge
when I could hide no opinion or desire.
I came to you
and you were loving and full of hope
when you started to walk through my life and dreams
and still are here in my first days of old age.
I came to you
and did trust you,
did cling to you like a drowning person
and although the last days of my life is turning over
I do know how deep your love is.
Gert Strydom, 15 september 2014
The days that are past
are like leaves in the wind
that is blown away
never again to be found
and the events, feelings
and time that is past
circle out like ripples
that goes wider on the summer sea
and that which stays unsaid
has got a expectation
that someone will understand.
Satish Verma, 15 september 2014
For the sake of lake, I climbed
on the weeping hills
to see the other side of moon.
The precipice of hunger weighs heavily
on shoulders.
Capricious time moves inwardly,
Strikes at the chest.
I set free the love-birds.
Conflict of trees tramples the grass
All summer the smell of dry winds
was scorching tear drops.
Every word was crying.
Dark in my city
I am wandering alone in alleys
of hostile homes.
The collective guilt of the flesh
blazes the mind.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 14 september 2014
Somewhere in between slumber and arousal
the twilight zone scoops a fistful of memories.
Atrophied limbs. Mottled skin. A cancerous face haunts.
Not afraid but I am anxious. Life has not yet ebbed away.
I scramble for sparks, my hands burn.
Very disquietening!
The severed bones in a heap.
They wanted to appease the goddess,
the gnomes were dancing in a circle.
The land, the country is breaking, sky is falling.
Run, run for cover.
I scream in a dream.
Are we disintegrating? Disappearing?
A black hole is calling?
The mega truth has been broken into myriad fragments,
We are now thinking in chips, holding our own mirror.
Show your mirror to your truth. Future is fogging the past.
Come hither my child of sorrow.
We are old tribe. We will keep our pledge
to maintain fidelity towards verses of sadness, evening, night,
stars and dust. The sparkles will die one day. Only the moon
will rise on the dead bodies. Where will you like to go?
Amongst the ruins, walking straight back to the treasure-trove
of ancient wisdom.
Wake up
Bells are chiming.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 13 september 2014
I will make amends with me today,
stop fighting with myself.
Unthinkable to live without pain,
in war with suffering.
Quietly cries the flame without sound.
While night lingers on.
Nothing was easy for a quick resignation
of ephemeral tears.
Again love opens like a senile gash,
a chandelier suddenly crashing.
Going back to old city, blowing the limbs off
I will find my house.
Trying to search a clue to the colour of wound?
Catch my style.
I will remain in your thoughts for eternity.
Was not I your hoary past?
Satish Verma
Bipurna Tara, 12 september 2014
I was writing a poem
I don’t know, what am I going to write?
Feeling tired.
But a poem was to write.
I looked at the window with weary eyes;
The curtain
was blocking to lighten to the room.
I saw the rays coming to me from the curtain’s tiny hole,
'This is my hope' and I wrote a poem.
Gert Strydom, 12 september 2014
I remember a home that smelled somewhat
of sandalwood,
a happy place where each longing, each wish,
was understood,
where the family kinship made you feel
welcome and good
but destiny makes life a fading thing,
like a flower that withers after spring.
Gert Strydom, 12 september 2014
(in answer to Alfred, Lord Tennyson)
The wish to live on, to still love, to know
beyond the grave
is probably in each mere mortal soul
and we act brave
in the face of daily devastation
at times do rave
at the meaninglessness of mortal life,
find withering in all that we do strive,
yet each lovely thing points straight up to God,
to some existence
that was once perfect, beyond all reproach,
and we do sense
that once we were much greater still than the
incompetence
to which we are bound and that everything
still yearns for company with a supreme being.
[Reference: “In Memoriam A.H.H.” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.]
Satish Verma, 12 september 2014
I tossed back the hot questions
before searching the answer.
Flaming torso of a limbless man
was seeking a place to rest his soul.
I inhale the death’s pungent odour
so opiating and so brutal.
Burning train chokes the windows
calmly, billowing the ebony smoke.
Cries mingled with whistling men,
haggarded infants were stupefied.
Grass was their pillow and stone
was the bed.
Courage was needed to write a poem
to fill the vast emptiness of a long night
without moon, when human torches
were throwing the light.
Satish Verma
Joe Breunig, 12 september 2014
As imperfect as I am,
He still loves me more-
than I can comprehend;
so I take time to explore
His everlasting desire
to be in relationship
with this soul knowing…
that it goes beyond worship.
As a created being of His,
I’m not the final point-
only God has the right
to chose those He anoints.
Though it may seem that He
has no reason to love me,
I’m still one of His children
and my love for Him He sees.
Despite my human flaws,
I can have much success,
for I’m made in His image
with His poetic finesse.
Author Notes
Loosely based on:
John 3:16; Gen 1:26-27; Jam 3:9;
1 Cor 11:7; Eph 2:10; 1 John 4:19
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
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