Gert Strydom, 14 may 2014
(after Divena Collins)
Love is much more than only chemistry
a kind of binding, feeling that comes free
when two people are bonded forever,
their emotions, bodies come together;
when suddenly small things have some meaning
when love become greater than anything
There is something secret in each embrace,
the look, the expression on every face
in the kinds of words that people do say,
that affects the outcome of every day;
when suddenly small things have some meaning
when love become greater than anything
People change, act as if in wonderland
at times walk everywhere hand in hand,
find something really great in every kiss
as slowly life turns to a place of bliss,
when suddenly small things have some meaning
when love become greater than anything
[Reference: “Amor Vincit Omnia (Love Conquers All)” by Divena Collins.]
Satish Verma, 14 may 2014
Let’s not go,
let’s not reach anywhere.
The toenails have started digging in the earth,
to make peace with the distress response
of the bruised hunger for transactional surrender.
And the surrogate mother will abandon
the child for the father who had
run away in pursuit of pleasure, like others
sowing his wild oats in rags
unwashable in the milk of mercy.
It has spilled again my full heart.
The pain provokes the stopped clocks,
in the wake of explosions. Unstitched
fissures bleed, I see the ashen face
of a floating wisdom.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 13 may 2014
My Lord, sometimes there is only silence
when I do talk to You
and sometimes I feel totally abandoned by man and God
as if a cold unconcern
keeps hanging over everything
and its then that I do long
and do not know the reasons for each thing
while the machinery of destiny keeps measuring out life
and then I do wonder
but when I am full of questions
You do bring with small things still meaning
and on the very brink things do come right again
when You bring wonderful light in a world of darkness.
Gert Strydom, 13 may 2014
Some thoughts of you constantly do remain
about happy moments we both have known
as if I do long to see you again
and at the times that I am on my own
like secret perfume they keep lingering
with a own kind of sincere perfection
whenever I am away travelling
and then we still have the sweet connection
that only comes with a true affection.
Satish Verma, 13 may 2014
Again the panic grips.
Clones from the frozen cells of rot-scented
rafflesia growing in abundance.
Huge pitchers are swarming the landscape.
You walk into the trap.
The lid falls, blocks the way out
and sharp spikes pierce through you,
so suddenly that you cannot even cry.
The white darkness of the gray ash
is covering the limbs of history.
I am the past, I am the future.
Where do I enter the present?
At threshold they lift their arms.
Neither in-nor-out.
Begging to walls to close in
and let the roofs fall down.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 12 may 2014
My Lord, sometimes I do forget
that You do know about every feeling and emotion that I have,
that You do have knowledge of all things
and do have the answers even before I do ask,
that to be angry,
have heartache and even fear
are not necessarily bad
and even when I do miss the bigger picture
that You do still love me.
Gert Strydom, 12 may 2014
As a boy I wished for the kind of skin
that never could get hurt.
As a boy I wished for for the kind of shirt
that mother would not have to rub in
to get rid of the dirt
and I wished to be as glad
as mother constantly was,
and constantly I wished I had
a living loving caring dad
but as the years of my life did pass
some were good and some were bad
and I started to understand and appreciate
how selfless mother loves me
and that the depth of her love was great
as the love of a mother is supposed to be.
Satish Verma, 12 may 2014
That tribal instinct sits in the denial.
Words fly in fog carrying absurd meanings.
I was ready for the impeachment.
Like a pinned butterfly
you lived several times, repeating
a dialogue on a mindless thought.
From nothing to nothingness,
you reach nowhere, over and beyond.
Where now? A state of deadlock?
Too insignificant when you climb down
against the black magic of language.
You loose the center by waking up.
Between this death and the next
you throw something in the ring,
to show my life was deflected.
Satish Verma
Stephen J. Vattimo, 11 may 2014
My spectrum of self expression is not captured in a portrait of black and white.
My artistic talent are received from One source of pure light.
Passing through me like a glass prism, expressing them in diversity of colors in my life.
Christ is my muse,
But in this life I will reflect His image like a polished piece of metal.
Not perfectly clear like a glass mirror,
because their are shades of gray in my vinear.
My spectrum of self expression is not captured in a portrait of black and white.
One day I will step into the presence of the source of pure light.
His spectrum of glory will blot out the existence of black and white.
My impurity will be berried in my grave,
I will enter His glory resurrected in the perfect image of Christ.
In that day my spectrum of artistic talent will be perfected through One Source Of light.
I can't wait,
Because My spectrum of self expression is not captured in a portrait of black and white.
Written by Stephen J. Vattimo
Nov 28,2013
Satish Verma, 11 may 2014
I will deceive the immortality
in my inadequacy, between myself
and a messy belief.
The sky cracks open.
One unreal moon
slaps the dark clouds.
You want to rest on my shoulder
till eternity.
The silence leads to nothingness.
Over the rifts, space and time
eyes stalk the hands.
You cannot write your name.
You will not move a step,
I will not stay for long.
The distance will defend us both.
Satish Verma
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