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poetry
Gert Strydom, 27 december 2015
You are my darling (sonnet)
You are my darling, my wife,
the one with whom I walk through life,
the one that is mine, my inspiration and hope,
the one that holds me tight against her breast
and when you are right against me, it is as if I do behold myself
in your gaze and at times I am stripped from my own conceit,
when we do have deep conversations with each other and with God
and I do wish that which you are for me would never abate,
that each and every day will just bring bigger understanding of each other
as you have grown into to me and are a part of my flesh
and I do know you, do know what you are thinking even before you do talk
as you are my magic potion, the best part of my life and my healing,
you are the one that have ideals of what I can become,
the one that creates a place of peace for me in a world full of hatred.
Satish Verma, 26 december 2015
Without Bargaining
A view from the cause,
alters the landscape in you
I surrender to the earth,
the roots. Purifying the leaves.
I tell myself, this was not me,
my music. Still my skin
has the tattoos of pandemic deafness.
I am breathing through the lips.
My attachment to death
is a private affair
my voice lies in a lake.
The butterfly in a womb.
the psalms under the rocks.
Is it ending of death
or death of ending?
I go beyond the brink,
dropp the stone in water.
When the moon touches
my eyes, like a kiss
I start sharing the menu of night.
The rimless thoughts are hovering
like small birds. I listen
to their flappings.
Can we live without bargaining?
Do you know the price?
Gert Strydom, 24 december 2015
On Christmas
the shepherds did see
that night a strange star in the sky
where they tended their flocks roaming free
and flashing bright like lightning on the eye
an angel appeared in great glory
and afraid to die
they met the messenger from God
who brought good news to all mankind
and all men where brothers even the stranger
when the angel told them to find
a baby wrapped in clothes in a manger
who is Jesus Christ the saviour
and a multitude of angels did appear
while the song resounded on the ear:
“glory to God in the highest and on earth
peace to men on whom his favour does rest”
and the shepherds had great cheer at the birth
of the child who did love without self-interest
and round and round their flock did trot
where they had left them without care
to find the son of God and of man
in a stable round pots of earthenware
and so the world’s redemption began
while their great news they did share
and the world was different from before.
Satish Verma, 24 december 2015
Immovable
Unfolding the dark night,
quarter moon shrinks
The bitterness of the day,
cave weird taste,
burning the tongue.
You didn’t want to live,
anymore. Roots lopsided,
starved. Age, language slashed,
mist rising. Names in the dust.
The ending was not there
sorrow burnt like candle
burning the meaningless words,
dreams, I hear the silent whispers
of wounds of faltering steps,
doubting the pain. Beyond
the age tales were endless.
Watching became a problem.
Nothing could be redeemed
by choice. I wanted
endless journey to find
the windows. long steps
towards immovable cliffs,
my own version of anonymity
and grace. Because glorification
has started the fear,
the escape and suffering.
Gert Strydom, 23 december 2015
Last night I dreamt of you
Last night I dreamt of you,
waking up in sorrow
from a fitful sleep
while you slowly faded away
like the night
with the beginning of the new day
and there was rain pattering down,
with a fresh smell
almost like that of making love
with clouds milling in the sky above
and every now and then
a thunder cracked down
blazing with intense light
and I thought that your smell,
the warmth of your body
was still lingering,
was still here with me in the room
and I walked into the cold wet night
to bathe my face and body,
to get my head clear
and still you felt near.
Satish Verma, 23 december 2015
Mud Path
Non-eye vision penetrates.
The silent song trembles
I weave a pattern
to resolve the crisis
the escape to white
space was useless.
The ending of sorrow
was a movement on circuit
the center has started vanishing.
Thinking was preventing
the completeness of self.
A single flower is answer of nature.
The echo of pulsating memories.
the landscape is full of quotations.
No one reads. Denials
and evasions want more attention.
A new road enters the body
on the edge of a prayer
infinitely small, a handful of vowels
sailing in my mind,
give powerful eyes to faith.
The abstracted meaning
leaves a sweet taste in mouth.
I lay out a mud path for the reader.
Satish Verma, 22 december 2015
Celibate
Standing on a cliff
holding the hand of a tall tree
the wind said –
I am going to die in few minutes.
Moon was laughing.
In elements of air and fire
a deity was in burns.
Who had the déjà vu?
Sky was wearing white.
A divine mushroom was going to fail.
A purple wart is growing
along the innocent neck.
The colossal death of hungry strangers
is going to go in waste.
“Being” was truth, but conditioned to lies.
King was wearing an amethyst
watching a marathon.
A single sperm will win
to enter a paradise,
for the sake of a celibate.
Gert Strydom, 22 december 2015
Where are we now?
There had been a night
that the darkness
did really shake her cloak
and hundreds of stars
fell out of the heaven
drawing lines in the sky,
the moon did hang red like blood
and blotted with the sun
in did flee away into the darkness
and people did notice these things,
did trust in the predictions
about these events
as if the coming of the Master
is right at the door
and sometimes I do wonder
when I look at this old world:
where are we now?
Satish Verma, 21 december 2015
Pause
Pursuit of a desire
in the middle of philosophizing
life was an absurd idea.
I was drawing a relationship
between reality and death.
Learning from destruction brings a pause,
holding the hyphenating truth.
The energy flows in voices
of charity under the flowering words.
When you slur over a depreciation.
no one knows a bias.
The bridge was incomplete and walls were high.
The decay spilled out of the house, removing rotten beams.
The first and last economy
of throat sinks in
the mud of heavy propaganda.
It was not exactly a storm,
only hollow drums
beating for the drifting night.
The blood drops falling
on the moonlit earth.
The questions remain unanswered
who were the killers
of prophets and saints?
Who had changed the flesh?
Gert Strydom, 21 december 2015
I had dreamt of you
I had dreamt of you
living in a world
where skies are always blue
and you loved me
with a kind of sincerity
and we had much joy
as just a girl and a boy,
had a kind of innocence
while our thoughts
whirled up like incense.
Your smile radiated like the sun
while you loved me like your only one
and our companionship was sweet
while butterflies fluttered at our feet.
You kissed me with sheer bliss
and there was magic in this
but I had to go then
back to the world of men
as promises I had to keep
in a world full of pain and strive
and I was devoid of further sleep,
I was devoid from you in my life.
Latest comments:
13 april 2026
Weronika
A ile trwa Twoje pięć minut?
13 april 2026
Supermasywna.
13 april 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
Dziękuję wszystkim za odwiedziny! W sumie komentarz
12 april 2026
Jaga
Krzewy tarniny w skupisku pachną wiosną i przyciągają
12 april 2026
Coraz trudniej. Chce się zatopić w marzeniach/
12 april 2026
Gdy nie wiadomo o co chodzi, to chodzi o pieniądze
12 april 2026
Czasem klej potrzebny duszy/ gdy we łzach i
12 april 2026
sam53
coraz trudniej o takie prawdziwe, czyste ....
12 april 2026
to znaczy wg koloru, czy wg płci?
12 april 2026
kiwam głową na tak :))
12 april 2026
za mało gmatwu-gmwtwu, a za dużo kleju... pozdrawiam
12 april 2026
zgadza się... moja juszszsz ukojona :)
12 april 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
12 april 2026
wiesiek
12 april 2026
Jaga
11 april 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
11 april 2026
wiesiek
11 april 2026
Sorrowhead (ex Cheval)
11 april 2026
Anthony DiMichele
11 april 2026
Anthony DiMichele
11 april 2026
Anthony DiMichele
11 april 2026
Anthony DiMichele