Gert Strydom, 15 january 2013
With every few steps that the Man takes
nature walks with Him
as if it’s a part of Him
while every piece of grass, leave and flower
is dedicated to Him,
under His gaze some of the most beautiful flowers
open their cups and it’s as if some
are flowering and sprouting only for Him
and while He walks on
there is power and new hope
and small animals are following Him
as if they want to kiss His feet
and He is aware
of the smallest thing around Him.
Gert Strydom, 15 january 2013
Early morning, even before sunrise
I hear the birds sing, some of them cry
or sit chattering
feeding in the berry-trees
while in the distance neighbours
open gates, talk and greet, drive off in cars
with lights sneaking past
and dogs barking their goodbyes.
A little later the black-collard barbet
or some green weavers
knock on my windowpanes
seeing themselves mirrored
while the sun throws
pink, orange and orange-red rays
and the freshness of the new day
breezes in through the open window.
In time the heavy curtains will become light
and the darkness in the room
will be disappearing turning to its own dusk
and outside the day will be bright
fulfilling the promise of a new day.
Satish Verma, 15 january 2013
The child was trembling inside you:
eliminated,
revived,
walking past an explosion
on the extra edge.
The dash was stabbing.
And without hands
trying to open the crypt
of forefathers.
Things were not happning
as you dreamed of tomorrow.
The moon, too, has become a stranger
Clatter of hoofs
but no rider comes in sight.
Satish Verma
Blossom Sol, 15 january 2013
What have I to loose
but misunderstood
broken dreams
that curdle in my nightly garments
fermenting cotton string seams
echoing misfortunes
good for nothing communications
maybe we'll do this
as we sit and stare
no where
no where
no where to go
maybe i'll make use of this time
instead of looking down low
obeservating this plane
flying me away
it's like when i'm awake i'm dreaming
because in my dreams is where i'm scheming
and plotting
in the other life
i travel far
wake up again
where did you go this time?
zanzibar.
And it's all for free, there is no holding back
no bad emotions,
no black fits-too-well sack
no,
it's all so free
that must be heaven
So i balance it out here
as lucky not so lucky but lucky
number seven.
steven cooke, 14 january 2013
The rose has framed the summer
the leaves have done their duty.
The flowers have shed their seeds
and the hedge rows offer their final feast.
This community of life will forget the rain
that killed their babes.
Nature’s rage is done
the darkness of winter approaches
and sleep is what some will fear.
The bee has done his work
and death will come tonight.
Though his legacy will protect the queen.
The swallows are over the ocean
destined to follow the sun,
they are a year older
and the wet summer has taken its toll
the ocean will be grave to some.
The old man who now wears his scarf
reflects on another summer gone,
memories of youth grow distant
and his love for her lingers on.
In the city the face of humanity is blind
for they have forgotten natures laws.
Their life of work and mortgage pressure
will bleed the soul on corporate mill.
The mandatory tie is a noose
the alarm clock the wake of despair
and the rain will greet the morning rush,
dripping its sorrow on bowler hats
that feed on the drones they cover.
The autumn years will find them mute
for release from work will kill.
Life outside will be a stranger
the ant has lost his way
and up above the clock ticks on
into uncertainty and fear.
The blanket of winter has come for payment
the cold will take the weak,
But nature will hide her treasure
for hope is buried from icy grasp
The spring will heal the losses
and the rose will rise again,
her beauty will frame tomorrow.
And those who wish to look
those who admire her beauty
will flourish in her fragrance.
Their essence will join this chorus of life
the cries of the new born will fill the earth
for the circle of life is complete.
And these corrupted cities
will look away for the markets are open
feeding a mirage of wealth.
Like the magpie for shiny things
always wanting more.
Death will come in comfort things
like cigarettes and alcohol.
though pockets of gold will not follow
for heaven was lost in yesterdays gamble.
And the ants will rush for one more day
for all will be forgotten in time.
Except for the Rose
her nature cannot be bought
and she will be with us
To the end of time.
Gert Strydom, 14 january 2013
When you lie in my arms
it’s as if you bring spring
into our bedroom.
There are doves, weavers
and sparrows outside
that gambols and sings.
Beautiful woman, when you
trust me with you body and soul
it’s as if the whole earth
encloses us in a paradise, in a spring garden.
Gert Strydom, 14 january 2013
When I see stars twinkling in your eyes,
when you want to lie as a puzzle with me
I will even abandon fame and fortune
if you want me at your side
but your whispered words
at times fly past me.
Gert Strydom, 14 january 2013
When the hospital swallowed me into a ward,
when they took me into a theatre
and later put me on a moveable bed
I could not remember you anymore
but still you lingered
somewhere in my subconscious
as if nothing, no hospital
could remove the virus of you
from my being,
my spirit and soul
and still I was not totally alone
but of my visitors
you were never one
and only before God
I could find humility,
could bind my life, my duty
and love to Him
where it was as if each and every day
He waited on the visitor’s bench next to me.
[Reference: “Hospitaaljoernaal II” (Hospital journal II) by Cornelius van der Merwe.]
Satish Verma, 14 january 2013
This was an embryonic stimulus
for a sprint.
Knowledge itself has no legs.
Can you run faster than thoughts?
The sniper will take you in the open field.
I had hoped to die in your arms.
The podium was too high for a small man
who wanted to heal the masses.
Drowning in your own thoughts was the best kill.
The bones were always dumb.
Satish Verma
Blossom Sol, 14 january 2013
Let us co-operate
in wishful glances
that prance like angelic
once to have been images
profillic to the imagination
this incantation
tinned like roaches stuck
to unfathomed ground
your heaven is lost
and your hell is to be found
and the state you resonate
is the one I love most
but don't boast old friend
for since time began
it never began at all
and do you remember
when we were not short
but tall?
do you remember when the trees had names?
the old classics were the future
and the gods had no fame?
the shame, the shame,
are we now lost?
like ghosts in haunted memories
our legends are tossed
but we flew to remember
our mission to love
to all of our familiy
to please those above
Amore amore amore le gadour cheque
si lement que esta la morte e opique
my tongues to the triangle
unreachable to the keyboard
unreachable to you
my night my day
my love my hate
my everything that these
so called philosophers
love to contemplate.
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