Naykd Poet, 5 december 2012
the price is loneliness to be of individual mind
to lack being want of any of the same kind
left alone to suffer ridicule for suggestion to find
greater worth in Self, then to follow the blind
body defeating the universal clay-mould
defying to suffer the history of that being told
living truth to sought wisdom before being old
knowing strength from conflict with that being sold
eon’s of history derive the same, repeated ends
where the individual dies for unknown others, asking to defend
the honor of the group collective that it survive to contend
perpetuating the myth: spilled blood, to humanity’s survival, it does lend.
__________________________________________
cena jest samotność się z indywidualnego umysłu
się, że brakuje ich chcą żadnego z tego samego rodzaju
sam cierpieć ośmieszenie na sugestię, aby znaleźć
większa wartość w Jaźni, a następnie śledzić niewidomych
Ciało pokonanie powszechnej formy gliny
przeciwstawiając cierpieć historię, że powiedziano nam,
życia prawdę poszukiwanej mądrości przed starości
znając siłę z sprzeczny z tą sprzedażą
EON-tych historii wywodzą się te same, powtarzające się końce
gdzie osoba umiera z nieznanych innym, prosząc, aby bronić
cześć grupy zbiorowe, że przetrwa do czynienia
podtrzymywanie mitu: Krwi, do przetrwania ludzkości, to nie nadają.
Naykd Poet, 5 december 2012
Lost to a moment of delusion
A brief fantasy’s illusion
Found to hide the intrusion
Of life problem’s confusion
To inflict painful mental contusion
Leaving want for such detraction’s infusion
But reality imposed its resolution
By its rigid rule constitution
Demanding immediate payment restitution
To the almighty governing institution
Before final absolve and absolution
________________________________________
Przegrana na chwilę złudzenia
Krótki Fantasy to iluzja
Znaleziono ukryć włamanie
Problemu życiowe pomyłki
Do zadawania bolesnej kontuzji psychicznego
Pozostawienie chcesz za takie obmowa w infuzji
Ale rzeczywistość nałożyła rezolucję
W swojej konstytucji sztywnej reguły
Żądanie natychmiastowej zwrot płatności
Do Wszechmogącego instytucji rządzącej
Przed ostateczną zwalnia i rozgrzeszenie
Naykd Poet, 5 december 2012
Unwittingly shackled to a chain of volubility
By charge of the ethereal high-court of judgment
To espouse translation of conscious energy
Transcended as Mind of Thought
Promulgating ineffable cosmic wisdom
To a realm of reality’s form
As the written Word
________________________________________
Nieświadomie przykuty do łańcucha potoczystość mowy
By za eterycznego wysokiego wyroku sądu
Aby zwolennikiem tłumaczenia świadomej energii
Przekroczył jak umysł myśli
Ogłaszając niepojęty kosmiczną mądrość
Do sfery rzeczywistości w formie
Jako słowa pisanego
Balasubramanian, 5 december 2012
Let your Life cup be always full,
Let Sweet Air embrace you where ever you walk,
Let Happyness swarm you like Butterflies,
Let Success adorn each step you take,
Let Honey and Myrrh flow from every word you share,
Let your Work be like Music,
Let your Path be like that of a river which enriches very inch fo soil it touches,
Let God protect you all along your journey.
Gert Strydom, 5 december 2012
When my thoughts are lingering
to when uncle Franck came to fetch me with his Chevrolet,
to times in my childhood days
where someone could set the way of my life,
I see Uncle Franck with as the person he had been,
as a man who trusted sincerely in God,
knowing that everything fit somewhere into the big whole,
and still I look at him with childhood eyes
as a man whose word had real meaning
and to when I had followed him with wobbling steps,
and he was a person that you ask for help at any time,
a person that would give to his own harm
and now that the darkness comes between us,
now that it brings overwhelming separation
with death
that jumps in between our lives
I still keep remembering...
Gert Strydom, 5 december 2012
New green leaves are all over the willow tree
and wherever I look
some pretty wild flowers I do see,
and arum-lilies are blooming in the brook
on this, the very first day of spring,
and it’s if all of nature is welcoming me,
as if the birds do sing
and rejoice quite happily
as if to this great new world I do belong
as if everything around me is covered in beauty,
in a kind of innocence far from the trampling throng
and the feeling of the presence of God becomes strong
as the river forever rushes on merrily,
as if this place in nature is where I am meant to be.
Gert Strydom, 5 december 2012
Age had killed the child,
but I the adult was uncorrupted,
somewhere I had lost something pure,
while the child was killed slowly;
rebellion I could inherit from the child.
Satish Verma, 5 december 2012
Vexed at a long sit in,
after collision
we will meet at a canal
in the watery grave.
You believed in philosophy of giving
I would apologize for the slaughter of babies.
Pink dolls
I wished to know why they were thrown
on a bank of the river.
The maroon red water
wanted to snub the lawmakers.
Step out from bloody arm badges,
there was no hope to count
the death toll. Abandoned lies
the face of god in mud.
Paper name for the dead child
paper name for the living father.
Satish Verma
louis gander, 3 december 2012
Peered I, up to the heavens. So stunned, I stood in awe.
His hand swept over East to West and this is what I saw...
A sight exposing every truth, that made me nearly faint.
A sight, that in a million years, no man could ever paint.
A special, brand new masterpiece that God creates each day.
A special, brand new vision that He gives along my way.
I see a vast creation that is pure outside and in
before His work is tarnished by horrendous, evil sin.
He paints His skies so differently. No two are just the same.
He paints the creatures on the earth - the wild and the tame.
The sunsets over mountain peaks are not identical -
and snowflakes falling from the sky - not precisely equal.
The clouds float freely with the breeze while rolling on thin air.
Though no two skies are just alike, they share the canvas there.
And no two meadows look the same as I walk down His path.
I see no trees identical when grown through nature's wrath.
Not equal are the mountain streams or creatures of the wild.
And so unique the sunsets are - as faces of a child.
So patiently, a flower bud waits ready to unfurl.
A swirl of brilliant petals bloom. I see a little girl.
Her whole life laid in front of her that she became forthwith -
another link within the chain this world had yanked her with.
Priorities had dragged her from her work to shopping mall.
And every day, a masterpiece - yet she had missed them all.
Now richly dressed as all the rest who never seemed to care,
she peered inside a cancer ward and saw young children there.
She saw the face of one small boy with cute and chubby cheeks -
and though the tears had dried away she saw the many streaks.
They washed away the happiness in life so short, but giving -
as sin has made the sky to fall on innocent still living.
God waves His hand across the sky, but have I failed to see -
out way beyond my own routine, beyond my vanity?
God paints a perfect masterpiece on each and every child.
I finally saw His masterpiece when that young child smiled.
Peered I, up to the heavens. Through tears, I prayed in awe.
His hand swept over East to West and that is what I saw...
©2012 louis gander - ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
http://www.ganderpoems.org/
-------
Satish Verma, 3 december 2012
Will you tell me what it was
the unknown of the known?
When you step into the eyes of stangers
you start talking without uttering a single word.
Give me back the body,
of dark pink matter
to understand the god’s will.
He was sitting in field of sugarcane.
The petrol burns with hate
in the necks of panthers.
Tiger, tiger I look at my son coming back
after encounter.
The bleeding revolution has overturned
tomorrow. No body knows where we are heading.
The babies flick like tender candles
inside the saints.
Satish Verma
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