Satish Verma, 26 november 2013
Our mouths go dry
at midnight charter on papyrus leaf.
Are we reverting back to pristine stone reliefs?
How far we will go revolving around eclipse,
stumbling on the phraseology of cosmos?
Man was becoming inferior to beast.
Who will walk on the bones of ancestors
to dig out the truth from scriptures?
The proud cows have become violent –
separating milk from grass in agony.
The perks were increasing the rifles.
Freedom had fled away from the legacies.
The split lips cannot speak coherently.
Terror attacks were reaching there, where
drenched amnesia wants to remember only door bells.
Satish Verma
Milena Sušnik Falle, 25 november 2013
V teh dneh,
dež žalosti dneve.
Daleč od sonca in morja
zateglo kličem
za bosim poletjem,
ura za uro mineva
brezkončno počasi.
Čutim dih jeseni.
Plazi se vame –
skeli, kakor rana.
Odkar sanjam preprostost ljubezni,
so moji dnevi nedosegljiva daljava.
In beg pred hlastočim vrtincem
samote.
Milena Sušnik Falle - Slovenija
(pesniška zbirka Prozorni kristali jutra)
Gert Strydom, 25 november 2013
I stand just outside the Pick-a-Pay
and have got no money to buy
some bread and milk
and the smell of hot bread
hangs in the air.
It’s a humid, cloudy hot Sabbath day,
however the sun is scorching
while for a few Rand
and sometimes cents
I am looking after cars,
are minding them from being stolen
and suddenly a Higher Being decides
that I need a shower bath
and the clouds open
causing streams of water
to run down my clothes
while I flee to the shelter
of the roof
and I wonder who does control everything,
the weather, and the destiny of people
when suddenly it stops raining
and steam rises
as vapour from the tarred road
and a man presses a hundred Rand into my hand
and say: “take this friend”
and I am astonished
on the kindness of some people
and in the distance
a lightning bolt flashes down to below
and I shiver where I am standing in the sun
and I buy bread and milk,
already prepared chicken,
the newspaper
and ride like a prince
with my bicycle back
to the shack
where my wife and children
are waiting hungry.
Gert Strydom, 25 november 2013
Sometimes it feels, it really looks
as if you are unaware of my existence,
maybe busy with more pressing things
than me a simple human being
yet in the waking morning, the first light of day
(and I have not got to pray
to be aware of this)
it’s as if you are in the world around me,
not in a great serenity, but touching
even other smaller things
like bees and birds and blooming flowers,
sending rain showers at the appropriate time
and I do pray
please help me,
please guide and open the way
with each passing day.
[Reference: To The One Upstairs by Charles Simic.]
Satish Verma, 25 november 2013
Gladioli stand in a tantric daze
under siege of prism. The colors fall dangling,
unsettling silent memories.
I thought I was nervous
while playing a smell game of wild guns,
when tanks were rolling out on streets.
A final farewell before exiting
the garden, in my ceremony of death.
A child lies down waiting for the boots.
The wheat grass of beggers,
never to mourn a falling cloud
undesires a dropp of blood on tongue spilling on skin.
A terrified leaf disturbs a mirror,
civilized image of a private crystal, beyond
the virulence of hiding legs.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 24 november 2013
In pinnate physicals, the thing,
moves like a stark terror
savagely. A primal fear
takes over, because dead don’t
speak. The bullet had passed
through chest. Mutiny of dumb
dandelions, lipless voices in the
sea of madness. Search for a missing
truth begins. The mass grave
contains the dried bones of renegades.
You remember the promise? Who said
we will end the war?
Listen, he bows his head, before
the trespassing starts to kidnap the
bed. Jealousy kills the snakes.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 23 november 2013
An outcast, stripped and beaten
up, the sickle moon
smears the clouds with blood.
I hate to wait for –
the sun to undo this mess,
an ethnic mutilation will bring a chaos.
Nursing the peripheries,
tribes were in pursuit of bayonets;
will not surrender the arms
to mate.Unceasingly they are
digging up an abysmal grave
to throw in the truths in uniform-
in pursuit of feathers, offering
for temple archways, turning
on the future, for past glory!
Satish Verma
Catman Cohen, 23 november 2013
I have an evil lover
Torments me with her sting
Fierce Canadian winter
Wearing boots
Made in Beijing
Bathes me in her blood
Leaves wounds across my face
Traps me in her heart
Feels like ice
Inside her lake
She’s my Hallelujah
My Hallelujah
In our Land of
Na Na Na Na
And no man
Could forget
The darkness in her eyes
No man could resist
The perfume of her mind
Build a pagan temple
From her naked holy skin
Live inside her spider
By the gods
Who dwell within
I have an evil lover
Rides my aching soul
Blocks the sun
From shining
In the desert
Where I grow
Wraps me in her scent
Stupefies my brain
Turns my nights
To hunger
For the feast that
She became
She’s my Hallelujah
My Hallelujah
In our Land of
Na Na Na Na
She’s my love
My tragic flaw
In our Land of
Na Na Na Na
My tragic flaw
Hallelujah
Catman Cohen, 23 november 2013
In dreams I appear and take her
Down a path she dares not wander
In a town beset by plunder
I shake her blood and bone
In dreams she asks my guidance
How to live in holy silence
Beyond the anger of her father
Enrich her mind and soul
Hold me inside all the night
Your leaders your baby
Hold me inside all the night
Your teacher loves you crazy
In dreams she feels me beside her
As I stoke her female fire
In a world that feels so lonely
I fill her need and hope
In dreams I appear and take her
On wings of heavens power
Beyond tears that stain her pillow
She takes my love and poem.
Hold me inside all the night
Your leaders your baby
Hold me inside all the night
Your teacher loves you crazy
Hold me
Catman Cohen, 22 november 2013
There’s a gun upon my bed
Not the kind made of metal
A vivid tattoo color
Above my lover’s
Secret devil
And that gun is like a demon
Aimed toward her pleasure zone
Urging hunters to take a shot
And take the trophy
Home
I see blood upon the doorstep
I smell murder in her fold
I fear ghosts will haunt her body
In the bullets I have sown
I hear hungry infants crying
The ones she gave away
And the bastards she is hiding
Are my regrets from yesterday
I feel the gun blazing
As she sucks my breath away
I’m a hostage to her body
In the mayhem
She purveys
In the middle of the night
I’ll make my escape
Run, run, run
Run away
I’ve got to run
In the middle of the night
When her back is turned
Run, run, run
Run away
I’ve got to run
There’s a gun upon my bed
It belongs to my baby
Burned deep inside her
On a night she went
Crazy
And every time I think
I’ll flee
Her dangerous painted gun
She draws it against me
And I feel myself succumb
I see blood upon the doorstep
I smell murder in her fold
I fear ghosts will haunt her body
In the bullets I have sown
I hear hungry infants crying
The ones she gave away
And the bastards she is hiding
Are my regrets from yesterday
Save me from her gun
She’ll never let me go
Save me from drowning
In her young and wanton soul
I’ve got to run
But there’s a gun
My baby won’t let me go.
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