Geetima Baruah Sarma, 22 august 2013
Through an introspection,
One can analyze any reaction.
Situations remain the same,
But we try to put the blame.
When do we feel good?
When do we behave rude?
When everything goes our way,
We feel good, happy, and gay.
If anything turns turtle,
We become unstable.
Circumstances make us dependent.
But, don’t we like to be independent?
Well, attitude should change,
Evade incidents out of range.
Instead of regulating the outer,
We should try managing the inner.
Controlling outer events and past,
A difficult task, but forgetting is a must.
Contriving the inner-self and thoughts,
Would work wonders and achieve lots.
[Published in 'iBuzzle' on 20 August 2013]
Satish Verma, 22 august 2013
A cult of sound without lips
was growing. The veil had staked its claim.
Staying myself I thought I will become
you; there would be a lured kill!
Moaning inside, a wave has ruffled
the sea. Serpent of moon quakes the shore.
Death was worthy of a kiss. A gull
flies away with glassy wings.
Rediscovering a beehive, honey of the
immaculate queen, between the breasts lies
a rival, I do not drag out the rainbow, I
have lost the will to trap the blue-fish.
We are distancing. A saddest tree drops
the seed in abyss, blackened, somebody
buries it inside a wall. The stones have
no option, up to neck the opacity runs.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 21 august 2013
In many of my dreams you were
and I did wait
while the days almost endless
was passing me
and the spring, the summer, the autumn and winter
covered me
before you came suddenly into my life
and it’s as if my life started anew again.
Gert Strydom, 21 august 2013
Throughout my life I have waited on you,
have waited that you would come
with the kind of hope that a person finds in faith
and in my more mature years
I do trust you like a child blindly
and the days turn around
while I arise each morning
to see you again, my darling.
Gert Strydom, 21 august 2013
(after Dorothy Parker)
Time after time dies
the new buds of the rose,
and the seasons fill the skies
as life passes on and day after day goes.
I love you with all my heart,
with unselfishness
and never we will part
or be able to love each other less
and there’s something in loving again,
while every day is different from before,
some are full of sunshine other full of rain
and every day we do adore each other more and much more
while days string on and on
and sweep us along.
[Reference: “Recurrence” by Dorothy Parker.]
Satish Verma, 21 august 2013
No anchors. I was not seeking
a blind spot
in shadows of the wall, standing
on a hot, glistening, obsidian,
earing only death-gloves
of pink body, the caked fronds of a fossil-name,
inviting the rain to wet the brown
grass as tall as the fallen pride
of a coiled accomplishment of a tiger,
the lips nearest to the fangs of
cobra, still nonchalant about the Murphy's Law;
mute belief of a blueberry
shedding the grey ash of pollen
from the virgin flowers of doom,
from dream to dream,
when the shifting of night starts
at ground red, a white shirt climbs on
a tank to challenge the turret.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 20 august 2013
When the rain fell for fourteen days
the yellow peaches did get ripe
while streams washed like rivers
and sheep and even cattle drowned,
the dust roads became muddy
while the rain poured down
as if without end.
and on a particular day
the sun shone while it was raining
with the pouring drops
shining bright like diamonds
but the farmers were trapped on their farms
by streams that crossed roads,
that where flowing strong like rivers
and where they were praying constantly for rain
they started to beg the Lord
for the rain to end..
Gert Strydom, 20 august 2013
The cold sneaks in through the windows
and before you know it winter has begin
when the ripe lies around freezing everywhere,
while the grass is brown like the ground
and the branches of the trees are stripped
while the world lies naked and open
but then a person realizes
that it is a time of rest
and in all of nature
there is a silent slumbering
when the cold
pierces tot the depths of everything.
Gert Strydom, 20 august 2013
When it starts to rain miserable at the sea
then the holidaymakers want to go home
and then everyone turns
on the sea and beach their back
and suddenly everybody is unhappy
that bad weather does also exist at the sea
and many are angry and moody
when they do return to where they live.
Satish Verma, 20 august 2013
Cereus was in bloom in nightwashed
desert, sand was cool, it tipped off
the contour drain, a river sent its compliments.
If the death was at home, like an
estranged lover, will you open the door
in dusky stripes of morning?
Rubber was burning in afternoon rain.
An alert was sounded in curious lanes;
the shadow was lengthening its stay!
Standing on the burnt-out hull, I count
the shouts of the fathers on artifical limbs.
Bits of violence have broken the sea.
The seedless fruits descend on the glistening
coffin. A city walks with me without end.
There were roses, roses all the way.
Satish Verma
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