Gert Strydom, 8 january 2014
There was a moment that I knew you are wonderful, my wife,
when you did treat me as if I am your very own
and in your heart there was much more than just pity
when you did trust me with your heart’s deepest secrets
but to every moment I do not want to cling
as in every other experience
there is a kind of deeper knowledge
as if days with greater promises will continue.
It’s as if I find something beautiful in everything of you
and there is greater value to even the most insignificant thing
as if everything makes a person more bonded and happy
and when at times you and I are lost like children
it’s as if greater and better things just wait to jump into each day
and life continually becomes better in the grace of God.
Satish Verma, 8 january 2014
Instead of pain sublime in body of death
and bracing a hailstorm of bullets
you embrace a white phosphorus
to burn for whole life, as a reminder of
collective suicide. Like my lost children
I am collecting the words to weave a phrase
against the destiny for capturing this moment.
The vast crowd will decide the fate of frigid winter –
to upstage the sun. Barren trees overhear
the wailing winds. Lake of death will outlast
the mirage of inward suffering. Chariot of
Apollo vaults to inconceivable height.
Satish Verma
Alicja Kuberska, 7 january 2014
Everybody wants to be loved,
But not everyone can give it.
Egotism builds a lonely house
With strong and solid walls.
There are windows without a view
Of the future shared with someone else.
The doors are not locked and
It is possible to push them open
And risk happiness.
Gert Strydom, 6 january 2014
The act of love brings men and women to their delight
whereas the art of love burns
like a candle through the darkest night
and involves the mind, body and soul
and makes even broken people whole
and in a world where passions reign
and embodies the wonder of being alive
love does much more than making love contain
as at its heart lies a kind of sincerity
that binds and makes a person free,
that takes away the sin from sin
when with true love
mere men and women do begin
when making love is a mortal thing
and true love is a gift from the godly being.
Satish Verma, 6 january 2014
You left behind touchstones
when I was inventing another zero.
Black and white, sobering transparency
was reclaiming the mandate of dust.
Barefoot lambs were clamouring for ethics
in forbidden land. The sun shrinks the
clouds to distribute equally, the landscape in
a vibrant consolidation. The small mouths
start resembling you. Something
unimaginable was happening in a diaspora
of maniacs. Interactive and dauntless,
I put my neck on guillotine, unfevered,
for the beheading of truth, in times
of false hopes and unturned stones.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 5 january 2014
Sun was setting over the cacti and critiques.
A cryptogram said, dignity first without
any damage to faithful aloneness. Protection
was not sacrifice, you have to plummet from a cliff.
A plaque has no mortality. The pressing of
lips places pain ahead of hope. The smiles
have a coercive expedience. I become voiceless
in a delirium of hooves.Sex green death opens
a door. Fear of feathers surprises, would
not measure the sky. Bound by winds the giant
trees search for the soil. Any grass can send
the butterflies. The bald piston throws the
blood on the spikes. Spiders are unwinding
by kisses. Beds are empty.
Satish Verma
Geetima Baruah Sarma, 4 january 2014
Days pass by
and I sometimes
wonder...
Why do we do
certain things?
Helping an old man
to cross the street
and helping a child
who has lost his way.
Perhaps, for the
love of mankind
and sympathy
towards one another,
that we go forward
to extend
a helping hand
even to a stranger.
[Published in 'Induswomanwriting.com' in January 2014 issue]
Satish Verma, 4 january 2014
Fractious smokescreen
between celestial reflection
and contempt
floats on a shaken rug.
You cannot stand still
incognito.
The indictment stinks
for the impoverished vicitims
who make history through to the bones.
Grappling after theft,
interstitial existence falls like glass pieces
nowhere, black and bleeding.
A robust chorus rises against resistance
of strips. The ocean rides on snails.
Hills threaten to go partisan ways.
The division had started the perennial conflict.
A pebble is thrown in the pond.
A racist moon becomes a living doll.
Satish Verma
Geetima Baruah Sarma, 3 january 2014
He left his footprints,
For us to trail,
His legacy unparalleled,
‘Mahapurush’ we hail.
Born at Bordowa,
Nurtured by his grandmother,
A child prodigy,
His pilgrimage thereafter.
Founded a new cult,
'Ek Saran Naam Dharma',
Preached doctrines of 'Vaishnavism',
Set up 'Namghar' and 'Satra'.
Composed devotional songs 'Borgeet',
Wrote 'Bhakti Ratnakar', 'Kirtan Ghosha',
Created one act plays 'Ankiya-Naat',
Innovated the dance form 'Satriya'.
An inspiration for all,
A great humanitarian he was,
Enriched Assamese culture and literature,
Lived for hundred and eighteen years.
He is Srimanta Sankardev,
An outstanding personality ever,
A versatile genius of creativity,
The saint, scholar, and reformer.
[Published in ‘iBuzzle’ on 3 January 2014]
Joe Breunig, 3 january 2014
It’s true; I can never be separated,
from the eternal Love of my Lord.
No possible form of earthly trouble,
can take away Salvation’s reward.
The times of tribulations will pass,
be it suffering, calamity or distress.
Christ’s seed of righteousness in me,
brings forth the joy of sacred rest.
With my faith, I will persevere,
moving through today’s affliction.
Since I belong to Him, victory is…
already promised, under His horizon.
When the date of my final judgment comes,
I will stand before Him and be embraced,
with assurance, confidence and boldness,
seeing myself… in the brightness of His face.
Author Notes:
Loosely based on:
Rom 8:35-37; 1 John 4:4, 17; Eph 1:17-20, 2:6
Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.amazon.com/Reaching-Towards-His-Unbounded-Glory/dp/1419650513/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1388058560&sr=1-1&keywords=reaching+towards+his+unbounded+glory
By Joseph J. Breunig 3rd, © 2013, All rights reserved.
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