Gert Strydom, 5 kwietnia 2013
So beautiful in the hand of a man in love
matchless in a vase, on the suit of a bridegroom
when a message of love is conveyed
and later they are given in mourning
when the coffin descends into the grave
or are withered, dried out, crumbling
when a bush of rose have no more meaning
and with the fragrance and colour fading
roses go straight to the rubbish bin.
Gert Strydom, 5 kwietnia 2013
With how the night can unfold
I am quite familiar
with how teeth, wing and claw
can grab, can tear and disfigure.
I have know the inside
of each moment, each second and hour
how things functions, fits in;
I have seen the fire
in the eyes of carnivore in the back-veldt
where the remote places can bring peace,
I have seen how nature had been
with the simplicity that makes it great
and in the faces around the circle of the fire
every other thing had been excluded.
Gert Strydom, 5 kwietnia 2013
How naked the veldt lays uncovered
widely stretched out and great
with aloes that speckle the hillocks red
and wild plums that sprout out of the earth’s womb
Gert Strydom, 4 kwietnia 2013
Day and night he searches for work,
And spend only money on that which is necessary.
He picks up old bottles and boxes
that he later trades in or sell
and when the night comes
he plays snooker, pool or darts
or whatever game that brings in money.
Gert Strydom, 4 kwietnia 2013
Out of the mist and rain along the old road
down the slope of a small mountain pass
an old man rides with his bicycle to town
with a plastic bag in which bottles tingle
each time that he treads on the pedal
while the sun breaks through
the clouds every now and then,
comes over the edge
of the Outeniquq Mountains.
Gert Strydom, 4 kwietnia 2013
Bundles of vestibules lay tables full,
anything from pumpkins
to green watermelons,
even milk are ladled out in buckets
as people while about in numbers,
biltong is weighed off
and even dogs are being sold.
Gert Strydom, 3 kwietnia 2013
Hundreds of miles from the sea
the roar resounds
when I bring a shell to my ear
as if to eternity it wants to buzz
keep witnessing of a place
where sand lays softly under your feet,
where water are flooding into the distance
and brings memories back that have been misplaced long ago.
I wonder about you from whose hand it came,
if you are sometimes thinking of me
or are you still disguised by life
in places where the most bright lights beckon?
Gert Strydom, 3 kwietnia 2013
Meters under the surface lies rocks that are rough, black and shining
where everything is caught in a twilight that trickles through from above,
where sea-grasses and bamboo gambols in the swell
when seekers with diving masks and oxygen swim still deeper,
try to decipher a broken surface that is covered in coral
and they only find rotting chests, the skeleton of an age-old ship
but when a shark passes to near a diver clings to his knife
and when it disappears from the scene again looks at the sea bed.
Gert Strydom, 2 kwietnia 2013
When age comes
claims its toll with small pipes
that are attached the mouth and nose,
with thin legs and knees
covered by a blanket,
with eyes staring as if captured
then to still be living becomes a burden.
Gert Strydom, 2 kwietnia 2013
Although I do constantly
look similar in a mirror
the grey appears bit by bit
in the colour of my hair
and although my eyes burn blue
they cannot fight against
sagging and wrinkles.
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