Satish Verma, 18 january 2014
It burrows deeper in the covert
recess of pain, shunning violence of light:
the epicenter of Armageddon,
giving collective death to providence
in a proxy war.
The collasal gossip rests on the river of ashes,
deflects the incredible starved children –
wind blown without geysers, dripping in sweat,
licking the salt lake of damnation.
Cutthroats will come shortly.
Centrifuges are churning uranium in underground
tunnels.Myopia was increasing. In
another garrison germ warfare was getting a shot.
Choked off I still carried the holistic style.
A blockade was sending the sleepers.
Inheritance of lean arms but brave wants,
bares it all.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 17 january 2014
In some ways the world we live in
is no different from the world in Christ’s day.
Today just like in the time of Rome people dance and play
and chase after pleasure and sin,
try at almost any cost to win,
do each other mock and betray,
are set on monetary value come what may
and without thought with the next evil we do begin
while some people live by human laws,
believe that the word of God is an outmoded tale
and do make own specific rules
as if an omnipotent God is full of flaws
and yet in life they do not prevail
while they act like renegades and self centred fools.
Satish Verma, 17 january 2014
It clings to you, like a liquid rock,
burns your skin. You get a chemosignal.
Tethered on a rope your clenched iron fist
remains dysfunctional. From the elite enclave
red smoke billows like a jinni unleashed
from the bottle.
A stray mortar sends olfactory fumes.
The land concludes a twist, becomes
unforgiving.The debris was a cluttered, goaded
inheritance. When it was not there I eat
the guns. Mission accomplished of death and
destruction, you start a prayer near an incapacitated tank.
Today, like everyday the war failed us.
Mother and son, father and daughter sleep in death’s embrace.
Satish Verma
abraham afedzi mensah, 16 january 2014
stuck at this transcend of time
as i revisit the days of my prime
stirring deep within memories
somewhere around my twenties
there are things i would still love to revisit
if and only if time would permit
it's been long
oh! dear and it never felt wrong
when we used to dance to Paapa Nyankson's song
i used to smile to myself in the mirror
now, i do same with horror
life is short and so simple
my grandchildren dont believe i once had a dimple
that period we call old age
leaves you nothing for you to salvage
your bones can no longer carry
you srength will always be weary
old age, a blessing or a curse?
to hell, who even cares?
Joe Breunig, 16 january 2014
Though I strive for real Word quality,
some people still get upset with me,
regarding spiritual constructs I write,
having been offended by Truths I see.
Within the depths of my Christian poetry,
I share faith’s expression and creativity,
seeking a balance of confession and worship,
in understanding how my dear Lord views me.
Since Creation, a complete scope of Humanity,
has been already defined with God’s artistry-
for He breathed life into us, His workmanship,
an earthly, sacred array of divine diversity.
Although a lesser form of His incorporeal epitome,
we are still made after the image of the Trinity;
therefore, live joyously and soulfully, knowing…
that we’re the living embodiment of God’s poetry!
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Eph 2:10
The greek word “poeima” can be defined as: that
which has been made a work of the works of God
as creator, i.e., His workmanship.
In addition, we derive the word “poem”.
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://amzn.to/1ffo9YZ
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2014, All rights reserved.
Satish Verma, 16 january 2014
Preparing jaggery from palm juice
the resistance is splashed on face
for the vision of peace. A pre-emptive
trapeze breaks the monotomy of transsexuals.
Intimes of peril the ancient conflict
becomes a broker to fire the night. A ball
of smoke betrays a human failure in
nostalgic days. The intense brown eyes
water with stark fear the incoming
rockets. This war will not end. A conduit
of fierce emotions always identifies the man
with personal faith. No overt blood or sweat
figures it out. Torrents of bullets have
no inclination to halt the wolves. A city
cries. The siren screams again!
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 16 january 2014
On a sunny day
a drop hanged on a cloud
when a thunderbolt unexpectedly lashed down
and for a moment it hesitated to fall
while it longed for the glistening glitter of a rainbow,
wavering wanted to wait for more moments
but nature went its way
as destiny does demand
when on fruitful earth it splattered
and suddenly its gloss was gone
but as a part of a beautiful flower
it did rise again
in the lifecycle of the creation
where things do come, go and are reborn.
Gert Strydom, 15 january 2014
At birth we enter this world
from the great unknown
and make life our very own
as human beings with senses
of touch, hearing and seeing
and from being born we are on a sojourn
as travellers that feel and experience
the way that life is
and we do reach to each other in bliss
and true happiness
while we do work, play and laugh and cry
until the very day that we die.
Satish Verma, 15 january 2014
Preparing jaggery from palm juice
the resistance is splashed on face
for the vision of peace. A pre-emptive
trapeze breaks the monotomy of transsexuals.
Intimes of peril the ancient conflict
becomes a broker to fire the night. A ball
of smoke betrays a human failure in
nostalgic days. The intense brown eyes
water with stark fear the incoming
rockets. This war will not end. A conduit
of fierce emotions always identifies the man
with personal faith. No overt blood or sweat
figures it out. Torrents of bullets have
no inclination to halt the wolves. A city
cries. The siren screams again!
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 14 january 2014
Darling, when you were with me
we walked through the hillocks,
searched for small gazelle
as if we would find them
while continually we were happy
and at times it felt
as if we could catch the golden sun.
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