Alicja Kuberska, 9 january 2013
The insensibility has got
The stone eyes and
An unaffectionate heart,
Which beats rhythmically
I only I - I only I.
It is better not to see
And not to sympathize.
The poverty is ugly,
Dirty and smelly, and
Sometimes it is drunk.
The easiest thing is to pass it by
And think
-It is not my business.
- I have no time.
Gert Strydom, 9 january 2013
Almighty God who sets the ways of people
do You see, do You daily notice
how my people do suffer?
Are You aware of the old man begging in the street,
the man that has lost everything in his old age,
who now is suntanned over his bald head,
who does not know how to resist
against a country that has betrayed him,
a country that despises his experience, his qualifications?
Do You notice friends and family
who are murdered on farms,
even in houses and businesses in towns and cities,
those that live as if they are bewitched,
as people caught in and attached to the past.
For them all there are only darkness, while others prosper
and they still wait on Your salvation, while they are extradited.
Gert Strydom, 9 january 2013
How can I declare
exactly when I started loving you?
Even if you ask again
I only do know
that you make me very happy,
that I will not allow anybody to stop your loving,
that daily I am falling more in love with you,
that you bring meaning to my life,
that I will leave any other woman for you,
that I am forming unbreakable bonds with you,
that I want to embrace you
and sometimes you do make me perplexed
when I want to generate the same feelings in you,
and my eyes betray my feelings
that I want to cover you in kisses
and I wonder if you are aware of this?
Gert Strydom, 9 january 2013
To some more a god than man
the hero walks in
with greatness depicted
in every move and stride
and thunder reflected
in his determined eyes, but the upper commander
and king of Mycenae insults him,
grabs the maiden Briseis as his own
and the great Achilles
withdraws the Myrmidons
sulking in his tent.
The Trojans encouraged by his absence
advance with a loud clamouring noise
like cranes screaming from up high
before the storming in and bringing death
and destruction to the Greeks
forcing them back in retreat.
Storming into the tent of Achilles
his companion Patroclus
tells Achilles about the Trojans
burning their ships
with flaming arrows
and begs him to use his armour
and to give consent for him
to lead the Myrmidons into battle
to come to the rescue.
Fighting like Achilles
Patroclus and the Myrmidons
are victorious and force
the Trojans back
into their city,
but the Trojan commander
Hector kills Patroclus
in the moment of his glory.
Achilles is filled with grief
and joins the battle
taking the Myrmidons
with determination
and ferocity
edged into every man
move shoulder to shoulder
to the depths of the fight.
Achilles fights in a raging frenzy
pursuing Hector three times
around the walls of Troy
and like a thrashing thunder bolt
kills him
tying Hector with anger
to his war chariot
dragging him around
the walls of Troy
and then to the funeral pyre
of his friend Patroclus
withholding funeral rites from Hector.
The anger of the fierce Achilles abates
and the Trojan king Priam
finds him and begs
Achilles to release his son’s corpse
and the great Achilles
has pity on the enemy king.
Satish Verma, 9 january 2013
I need not want to know for it,
a dirty mind of lateral conjugation;
of uncharted hopes. The name
splits the long story.
Everyone had a stain on chest,
color roiling the heart.
Dancing on the cocktail grass,
they started calling the moon by putting up long knives.
Unhearing the whistles in rooms of
lambs, the crosswords engaged the knot
of strongheads who had started
playing diplomacy.
Nothing changed the contours. The wind
was inheriting the scent of a rider, the
trees unheard off. Fastidious, my innocent
mind was looking at the highway.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 8 january 2013
There was a silky assault
by a gray cloud over the sickle moon
and I went crazy.
Moon said I will come again
for the glittering makeup
when the curtain are drawn.
Indelible tattoos on my breast
will haunt you whole night.
You must suck the stars meanwhile.
Come March, I will shower the
blue stains on your shirt.
It will remind you the number of nights
you slept with me.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 8 january 2013
It’s as if my country
is now somewhere on a different planet
and early in the morning I see the poor black man
where he sits with hair like strings
covered in a blanket
against the wall of the ABSA bank
where people at eight o’clock
stand in a very long queue
while they wait upon the bank to open
and the friendly police captain
(who sometimes wear plain clothes)
and has a shining bald head
greets me and he wants to know
where my motorcycle is?
There are a group of jobless white people
twisting tobacco from cigarette buts
where they beg for leftover food
at DJ’s restaurant
and I wonder what is happening to this country
while a minibus taxi
stops in the middle of the road
and drops people in the traffic
and the traffic light is green
when I cross to the shopping centre
and the minibus taxi ignores the red light
and barely misses me.
Gert Strydom, 8 january 2013
Maybe I come from a time
where things were better and different
than they are now
and still I keep believing and do trust
that every person deserves an own place in the sun.
Even when some of my wife’s family members
have been mowed down by criminals in a robbery
I still want to keep believing
in our country, in our time
some kind of change will come,
that people will grant each other a own free existence,
that the Lord God walks at the front of the road
to make it even
and that this is a year of prosperity and hope.
Gert Strydom, 8 january 2013
The year slowly comes with the ticking clock to an end,
while the new year is almost born
when the neighbours drown themselves in liquor,
and afraid of the festive sounds the cat sneaks in again.
Soberly we have our own festivities,
while outside thundering explosion on thundering explosion occurs
when the New Year is almost born
and afraid of the festive sounds the cat sneaks in again.
Later more meteorites explode
and they hang like stars to the heaven
while the neighbours gather around a barrel of wine,
and afraid of the festive sounds the cat sneaks in again.
Arbi, 8 january 2013
Once upon a desolate and dreary time
That looked very much like wartime,
Too cold and merciless was the clime
I was then at my very best prime.
But, in my pocket were a lonely and lousy dime,
Fully covered with gruesome grime
And next to it, lay the skin of a rotten lime.
Needless to say, it was away past its prime.
So hungry I was and so near was lunchtime.
And so hungry I was, anyone could hear my guts chime
But nothing awaited my enraged enzyme’!
For, what on earth could I buy with a lousy dime?
Nothing... Not even the ruins of an ancient pizza full of slime.
Honestly, I began to see myself in endless scenes of justified crime!
‘Cause I just couldn’t stand living on your slime.
Neither did I want to be seen like a mere slime
Especially during the so-called bounteous Christmas time!
I’m so sorry if your Christmas I did spoil with my rhyme.
But, what would you expect from a slime, like me, under the icy rime?
Anyway, Merry Christmas to you all, friends and foes and even slime’
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