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poetry
Gert Strydom, 17 june 2014
My God is not just an icon
My God is not just an icon
that still hangs on a cross
and where I go He walks along
and He is present
in every moment.
He knows every human being intimately
sees every tear,
hears every prayer
and when darkness folds its arms around me
I am still in His company.
Let others believe what the want
His love urges me
to believe in Him.
Gert Strydom, 17 june 2014
The seagull
I see a gull with wings swept back
fall into the deeper blue
and with power ascend from the ocean
with a codfish of which the tail hits to both sides
and its shade glides over the mirror smooth surface with a fish
when that bird is just for another moment there.
Satish Verma, 17 june 2014
KILLING ZONE
If you walk straight under the
shadow of moon, to the salt lake
death will blow a long whistle.
Everything was ruined in war of words.
There was no peace in the heart,
even after meditation, the mind
drove for the flesh, caressing neither
blameless womb nor Oedipus.
The dead forefathers goad the hypocrisy
till the blood spurts out from
the black navel of centuries
and the forgiveness stands naked.
Satish Verma
Milena Sušnik Falle, 16 june 2014
MILOSTNO JUTRO
Vonj jutra
kraljevo
zavaja dan
v odpuščeno –
da ne bi bolelo,
jokalo –
zvonilo tam,
kjer ni zvonov.
Blazine trave z dražem jutra
blestijo v soncu -
zadišijo:
majhna sebi,
čutno polzim vase,
da se kdo ve kje,
približam udarcu dneva -
bo milosten ali surov.
Polja tiho
na soncu ležijo –
občutek svetosti,
kot prvo obhajilo;
razodeto zunaj mene –
komaj verjetno –
zlepljeno z odtisi milosti jutra,
za neizogiben čas trnjevo negotov.
Milena Sušnik Falle - Slovenija
pesniška zbirka Tempus fugit - Čas beži
Satish Verma, 16 june 2014
JUST BEAUTY
Today I want to take a lethal dose
of black lips, confronting the killer on
contract. Time dithers to escort. May be
a cold-blooded murder of a handful of
sick shadows will give a transparent
memory.
Planting a sad kiss on blameless
insomniac, I rub the sweet tenderness
of morning blossom, a work of a faithful
artist, an unnoticed grief (for the sake
of old promise) . Meanwhile the blue moon
splits into thousand splinters.
From the height of insanity flows
the chaste river of history. I defy the
laws of gravity and climb with death
all the time, becoming dark to myself,
finding the shape of light in
beauty of death.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 15 june 2014
NOW AWAKENING
Always working out the territory
to find out the limits on the right
to live or die. Why not to get
an assisted death when you choose
to go unnoticed without fission or
folding up? Time was becoming a book
you cannot read like a polygraph.
The carnivores are increasing in
numbers and destroying the eco-balance
of human relationship. The dry bones
are piling up and the gouged eyes were
gaping in ethical failure under hot
glow of brightness, the naked god
chasing the helpless man. The coming
of age of a dialogue on fear was
important for a debate to start.
Satish Verma
Satish Verma, 14 june 2014
NO-MAN’S-LAND
Sadness was invading my wounds. Again
I will dip my fingers in bleeding heart
to write a new poem.
A scythe cuts a cloud
that it was not. I reel under
the unexpected rain of wards.
You go up on top ladder
to jump in the hot cauldron,
no pain to drown in bones.
What was the meaning of living
with death daily and still smiling?
A candle makes a hole in your palm!
The brain has an infidel tumor;
if fails to grow and erase you.
You are absent to your being.
Satish Verma
Gert Strydom, 13 june 2014
It’s with ice that the winter comes
It’s with ice that the winter comes
and with sadness the wind is blowing
when just an empty loneliness remains
and I do not anymore hear your beautiful words
when just before daybreak the dew changes to ripe
that even makes the bigger plants wilt,
the tracks in my heart are blown away
and even when we are together I do miss you.
Gert Strydom, 13 june 2014
Winter-night
There is ice in the wind
and here and there a flower wilts
are devoured by the ripe
and when the moon rise brightly
leaves whirl around everywhere.
Satish Verma, 13 june 2014
FAILURE
Sound of footfalls was drawing near;
the tiger has been set free.
In the wild landscape you need
some feverfew. Death was constantly
stalking to trade off the dolls in
lieu of sameness of the stones.
The shifting sand drips in the eyes.
Face to face we come near the blind
ruins of today, denying the questions.
Who was responsible for the dark
skulls in the ragbag and explosions
near the granite temples?
Your face was not on the poster, but
you write the lessons to interrogate
the past. The gods are not visible.
Satish Verma
Latest comments:
22 november 2025
violetta
Warto rozpalać;)
22 november 2025
Aczkolwiek obojętne, ale lubię ten nastrój:)
22 november 2025
Jaga
Skrzydlatych jest wielu, a skrzydełka różnobarwne.
22 november 2025
Przedsmak białych świąt.
22 november 2025
Całkiem niezła ta podpałka.
22 november 2025
smokjerzy
na głodzie, to nawet jak się tli, to się pali...
22 november 2025
Świetny wiersz, pełen sugestywnych, otwierających
22 november 2025
Weronika
Tli.
22 november 2025
z nazwy wynika, że to karma aniołów...:))
22 november 2025
zanurzyć w tym stopy i umrzeć...:))
21 november 2025
Och życie też przykuwa uwagę na coś niemądrego:)
21 november 2025
Piękne podziwianie:)
22 november 2025
wiesiek
21 november 2025
wiesiek
20 november 2025
wiesiek
20 november 2025
Jaga
19 november 2025
Jaga
19 november 2025
ajw
17 november 2025
wiesiek
16 november 2025
wiesiek
15 november 2025
Jaga
14 november 2025
wiesiek