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poetry
Gert Strydom, 21 july 2016
Warriors of the civil service
To where blankets hang during the afternoons
on the balconies of flats
to catch the last afternoon sun
a whole impi does return at nightfall
from where they daily sit in offices
behind desks,
of the new civil service the top product
with pens that scribble, scratch and screech on papers
and they make as if they are very busy,
do send citizens continually round and about
with there attention focused on the clock on the wall
and at five a clock they rush out in a throng,
together with each other in a ancient war dance
and before the sun sets they sing at the nearest bar
united in a wide semicircle
that makes the horns of the bull
while they manoeuvre and play,
do bet money on soccer teams
and just for pure fun
do shake dice and throw them out to roll.
Satish Verma, 21 july 2016
When Night Weeps
Neither in sleep nor wake
I hear, a wingless fall, out of the clouds
with a thud and splash on the lake.
An injured word flutters to the beach
wanting to fly back to its flock, syntax.
Sick of my circling thoughts
I choke on sounds of ducking gravel.
My sea was green under the sun
though I never cared for the craft.
My gift had been gift of pain.
Land opens like a mouth, in awe.
So much cruelty was never seen before.
Anger and greed, lust and beast
blooming in veins of man.
One perfect excuse to kill a day.
Goodness was death, foresight for
crusted ambition You in dark and
dark in you. Tomorrow a blue moon will
come, when night weeps and stars
move away in fright.
Gert Strydom, 20 july 2016
This morning the sky glitters blue
This morning the sky glitters blue
as if it is made
from lapis lazuli
with a deep azure colour
and I do wonder
to where the grey clouds of last night is gone
but the wind
that had blown them away
is also missing
and the fragrance of flowers
hangs sweet in the air
and it seems
as if it is going to be a nice hot day.
Satish Verma, 20 july 2016
Missing Portrait
I climb up the stairs to know
How much you need
between nothing and a thing?
Grasshoppers are storming the sky
in inverted outwardness.
They will breed in millions
and then die to become the delicacy
on the platter of man.
From basic instinct to martyrdom
Insects don’t eat.
Violence was middle name of lust
Homo sapiens was walking again on all fours
hurling the abuse, grabbing the flame
becoming the god of oppressed and approved
words are crawling everywhere.
My fingers are burnt, my poem bleeds
give me some water, some real cool.
Lake is on fire, god is on run.
Clouds are empty and sun is an abstract.
Frame is broken, portrait missing.
Gert Strydom, 19 july 2016
You must not show any fear
(in answer to Yehuda Amichai)
You must not show any fear,
and have to have a tan
even if not using
the malaria tablets
that causes you to burn spots
(which I take anyway),
scared of fever, weakness
and death that comes without it.
You must not show weakness
and I am showering
in a hedged off shelter
pulling the string
from a bagged bottle,
being afraid that all of the country,
will wash away into the dark.
In the daytime I walk patrols with special force soldiers,
sometimes are flown in by chopper in for hot pursuit
on enemy tracks,
some nights are dropped by parachute from very high,
but tonight while the moon is rising big and white,
huge enough to inspect
the dark ditches, the valleys in it
I am showering in the middle of nowhere
in a small military base
and after the battle I came crashing down,
crashing down in myself,
start retching,
shaking without anyone noticing
but are still dedicated to staying alive
and people think of it
as the ordinary soldier thing.
[Reference: “You Mustn't Show Weakness” by Yehuda Amichai.]
Satish Verma, 19 july 2016
Consecrated
It was a severed finger
in an envelope,
which wrote the letter
of consent.
Oh, my father
I am still crying
with loss of words
and figures.
Past the hills
I sent the secret of
my poems which did not tell
me the name of knife-
that was put in my back
by my unknown
brothers of shame. I will
now bleed all life.
It was only an
apology. I will still
walk with my toes drawing
the stripes of welts.
Gert Strydom, 18 july 2016
My dear loving God
My God, who does have comprehension
for each thought, for every thing
that goes through my head,
who attentive like a father does see
how I cry and at times do sing
I ask you, where I now stand at a crossroad,
where in brokenness I do wander away from your law
that softly you will lead me back to the right way
and if you have to admonish me at times with love,
that you will draw me nearer even if I am contaminated by darkness
and will bring me to a way out (past every earthly restriction)
that with love you will wrap your arms around me
and where at times I do fall
that you will still straighten my ways
and your attentive glance will remain upon me
although you are at the other side of the universe,
that you will touch my heart and my desires
so that at a time I will also find rest
in a world where there is constantly conflict and discord.
Satish Verma, 18 july 2016
You
From eyes I will read.
Don’t say, what you say
but remain you.
Dismantle the tower,
go for a walk,
when the moon climbs on dew.
Seed by seed
we went mad
leaf by leaf I held you.
Sit on the bank
wash your feet,
rock by rock pain were you.
Stars will go
sun will rise.
At the dawn, I want you.
Sins were many
birds were few.
In twilight zone
a cuckoo flew.
Gert Strydom, 17 july 2016
Sad tidings
When uncle Henry
(who had been my father in law at the time)
did beat the last retreat
on the golf course
Riana & I had to hurry
to Barberton to mother in law
to assist with the funeral
and Riana & I had to constantly wash the dishes
and Riana & I had to prepare
food and refreshments
for the horde of guests
that came to the funeral,
we had to help with the funeral letter,
go along to the veterinarian
with the beloved dog of the deceased
and I had to dig a grave for that poor animal
as for that old madam
(who had been my mother in law)
the poor dog had to be buried as well
on the day that I helped to carry her husband’s coffin
to his grave.
Satish Verma, 17 july 2016
Go Away
Unlived death, that was me
waking in exile from the bones.
He said I remember your verse
a split open bloom!
Given away your gems to sea
ready to become ash, green blood,
you have killed a white cloud
now go for a floral burial.
He said I remained unpacked
like an open wound.
How far space will hang on the shoulders,
how far the sky will remain blue?
Snow will not melt I presume
I will burn my shirt with stain.
Life will not stop but conceive
the proud burning pain.
I stand today without complaints
grieve for my silence, ignorance.
There was a home I could not save
miles from water like bright dome.
Latest comments:
2 january 2026
sam53
nadzieja potrzebna... :))
2 january 2026
Jaga
Z nadzieją :)
2 january 2026
I dla Ciebie Sam :)) Może sięgnijmy półwiecza
2 january 2026
ha, ha, ha :)) W przymierzalniach mają te same
2 january 2026
Za chmurośnieżek pięknie dziękuję/ a zima
2 january 2026
Na nic zaciski na prawie wrzaski/ i trupy ścielące
2 january 2026
smokjerzy
dzięki, z nawiasami, oczywiście, masz rację,
2 january 2026
znaczy, że sprawy zaszły dalej, niż myślałem...:)
2 january 2026
AS
świetny; jedna uwaga: nawiasy domykamy szczelnie;
2 january 2026
Weronika
Będzie okazja na kondukt wyschniętych butelek.
2 january 2026
chmurośnieżek...:))
2 january 2026
widać, że zaopatrują się w tym samym sklepie
2 january 2026
wiesiek
1 january 2026
wiesiek
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