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poetry
Satish Verma, 5 january 2016
System
It was a fractured miscarriage.
The system groaned like a huge cow.
We milked her till human thirst chopped the teats.
I belong to no glamour,
my faults burn like classics.
Total freedom will come
when I am through.
The dates creep under the skin, I faint,
The tiny minims shine on my lips.
The symbols crash.
Me and my shadow bubbling with
the smell of poems,
I come back to arguments.
To justify the Armageddon
of first & last love.
How could it happen?
The fear has death, as a lover.
I sleep with it every night.
The demolition of memory, it sweats like a black cloud.
There is no religion in desires,
choiceless destruction of each dawn.
Gert Strydom, 4 january 2016
It had been a hell of spring with the sun hanging scorching
It had been a hell of spring with the sun hanging scorching,
with nature longing in the flowering season
for the rain that had not come and the days turned over and over
while everything did dry out in record summer temperatures,
while the heat did daily creep higher and higher,
while in the yard flowers and vegetables did continually wither
and on the plains cattle and sheep did die of the drought
while I was still praying for rain to fall
to the God of the universe
and at times the rain did pour down before the heat did come again
in a exhausting summer and I am astounded
that everywhere there still is life,
that buds did appear out of the earth
so as if God was secretly active.
Satish Verma, 4 january 2016
Path Of Destiny
The questions haunt
the genes who could’t stay
in flesh and a womb.
A winter moon picks up
the forgotten trail.
Night slaps a white cloud on my eyes.
A face swims on a lake.
A splash of color.
A yellow leaf falls
on the path of destiny
the moon enters a tree.
Burden of arithmetic shifts.
I take a break from my pain.
A star twinkles hesitantly
outlines a shadow.
I watch a violet flame.
The fear sprints.
I run towards a non-truth
Revenge of love overwhelms,
journies to zero pain.
Inward window opens to more queries.
Life revisits, ignites the dark spaces.
Intimate trust melts like lava.
Gert Strydom, 3 january 2016
The marsh
African coots fly up black in the marsh
and long-tailed widow birds hang
somewhat tempting as if I can catch them
and I am startled as plovers do bombard me
but the marsh does tempt me past them
with a own unknown insistence
till where a Cape monitor peeps like a crocodile
and scared I run back, right across the maize field,
do drive away a group of baboons in my fright,
rock rabbits do run in all directions,
donkeys do stampede out of my way,
the dogs of the neighbours do howl,
the round gate does spin around
and I do not wake mother, as it is Sabbath.
Satish Verma, 3 january 2016
Holding The Poems
The moon scrambles on
the fragrance of the trees
I think of humility & grace.
think of the secret of death,
honey of life and survive
by holding the poems.
I will ask myself
not to invent the echo of tomorrow.
In my aloneness
I watch the dancing of words,
the white tract of thoughts
without thinking. There are
no holes in heart, still the
numbers build the nest.
The abstract arguments of depression.
Lull before the explosive creation.
Movement of grief
is footfall in dark night.
We always blamed the self image
without perfecting our contents.
Liberating self from
bare hands was the theme.
We could bring the screaming moon
to rest upon our souls.
Satish Verma, 2 january 2016
Shifting Sands
Using me,
I take a refuge in desire.
‘Seeing act’ strangulates.
I suffer in the mists of defeat,
there is no evidence.
One attachment catches the conflict.
The fading light of moon burns my pillow,
transcripts impenetrable theme.
Conceiving a problem
in the shifting sands, life seeks
a view of words and enjoys the discreet
meaningless movement.
We play the game again & again,
feed our egos. Study the sorrow
and give charity to the torn flags
of pride and hunger.
The fear does not end,
the looking does not stop.
Each answer leaps to a grief.
The chronicle of squeezed holocaust.
we were hurting each other
humming a song.
Violence of non-violence was more evident.
Satish Verma, 1 january 2016
To Go Back
Let me think without thoughts
to measure the mind, feel the crunching of words.
Time to know the meaningless life.
A flock of sufferings; they were all over
and I was looking at me.
In deep sorrow to go back into myself.
Where were you
in the forbidden void of silence?
The fountainhead drops the legends.
The effort to shift the truth is painful.
I am baffeled by the blinks of lies.
Nothing appears to be real.
Wounds transcend the flesh.
Here I am to feel the blindness of fate
the collapsed roofs of faith,
will discover a new god.
Dry and bright speech
describing the healing touch.
I refuse a diminutive role
of firewood to zip a smokeless fire.
Gert Strydom, 31 december 2015
For my darling, with New Year
At night when the darkness folds around me
and I do hold you tightly
I hear a swarm of mosquitoes flying away
and in dreams I do meet you again.
You are the one that I do love
as if from the beginning
you have been destined for me
and I do wish every beautiful thing
with joy that is braided into your days,
that the days that do come
will have love, bravery and peace
far past the days of old age
as everything that is lovely
I want to say to you.
Gert Strydom, 31 december 2015
The old year
When I look at the unsettling things
of the old year
I do wonder how the New Year is going to look
and what kind of things it is going to bring?
or is my whole life twisted
through dark forces that do not abate
or is everything settled in the rays of a new sun
that reaches with its heat to the darkest places?
Am I like a leave that falls from a tree
being swept up by a wild wind
that blows wherever it wants,
that at times does fall and rise again,
when lightning bolts do ominous flash
and are bound to the power of destiny
when the last words come over my lips?
Satish Verma, 31 december 2015
Claim For Fame
The journey is brutal when you arrive nowhere
striving for unsaid perfection.
Life drips. Your wounds snap the love.
A tale becomes a twister.
Between the blinds is buried, the window. In dark
a depression fills the room.
The untethered loneliness.
Fearing from self.
A time to become insane without anchorage.
My ruined book becomes a home for spiders.
Bewildered dreams rise like vampires from the skull.
I will not mourn the body.
The spirit walks like the white light.
It was a thwarted desire, to die empty-handed
beside the troubled mind.
Was there a path to truth?
Being, what lies are?
The soul rustling the shadows of mortal thoughts.
The tree finally gives up
the claim for fame.
The roots squirm.
Latest comments:
14 january 2026
Jaga
Kocham cztery polskie pory/ wiosnę, lato, jesień,
14 january 2026
Nie zawsze czas uczy pogody.
14 january 2026
Jeśli znajdziesz drogę, wszystko się może
14 january 2026
Łapią słońce bez bikini/ takie trendy dziś
14 january 2026
To prawda. Za to piękna gra światła :))
14 january 2026
smokjerzy
jakieś wychudzone te pietruszki...:))
14 january 2026
jakiś tam...;)
14 january 2026
od zawsze próbuję upchnąć zbyt wielkie w
14 january 2026
jeśli jest dokąd wrócić...:)
14 january 2026
i prawie mu się udało...
14 january 2026
Weronika
Chciał się powiesić na wymyślonej gałęzi.
13 january 2026
sam53
na pewno jakiś sposób...
14 january 2026
wiesiek
13 january 2026
wiesiek
12 january 2026
wiesiek
11 january 2026
Jaga
10 january 2026
wiesiek
4 january 2026
Jaga
4 january 2026
wiesiek
31 december 2025
wiesiek
30 december 2025
Jaga
27 december 2025
marka