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poetry

Satish Verma, 12 june 2014

LOST MEANINGS

In mangled bodies
and severed limbs,
the blood gives up its claim.

A twisted window blocks the landscape
of silvered faces.
No body talks with moon.

Night burns the fat
floats on the dead mouthings.
Death has the foulest taste.

Darkness looms overnight,
very false under the lamp,
eyelids are closing.

Dirty maps unfold the mystery
of religion. The longest book
has the restless words.

Satish Verma

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Gert Strydom, 11 june 2014

I smell the fragrance of the falling rain

I smell the fragrance of the falling rain
hear how startled the wild horses snort,
see the dust-line of the wild wind savagely
blowing sand and leaves
and hear and there it turns lingering
when thunderbolt after thunderbolt blue-white crushes down

and I see swallows circling against the dark sky,
hear turtledoves singing praises to God
and in the veldt the joy is wide
over the rain that brings new life.

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Gert Strydom, 11 june 2014

Every morning her windows are washed clean

Every morning her windows are washed clean
and they reflect the garden
in bright pieces of glass
and even the clouds disappearing in the distance.
Gardenia, jasmine and pomegranate
reflect the colours, the beauty
of her lovely face
and every sunny day
you will find her with fingers in the ground
when she prays for the first spring rain to come
as she is a nature child
and around her lawns of green grass dazzle.
She has caught a small world in her hands
and a straw-hat against the sun hangs low against her eyes.

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Gert Strydom, 10 june 2014

There is a seashell

There is a seashell that on a time I want to give to you
wherein you can continually find the presence of the sea,
and it’s something with the echo of the sea
and it roars on sunny days and during the stormy wind

and I wish that just like this
I could hold you to my ear
while we are apart from each other
and can feel how your arms embracing me.

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Gert Strydom, 10 june 2014

How long?

At the robot light I see a child
in dirty clothes and his hair blown by the wind,
his cheek is swollen from toothache
and where he is begging I wonder if he is going to find any help?

The old man near to the bridge has lost his job
at the Aurora goldmine
and he is grey but his arms looks strong
and I wonder what kind of hope he has?

At another place an old lady is standing and she tells about her daughter,
that she is suddenly pregnant
and she is confesses sing about her own life
where she is counting the few coins that she gets from people

and I look at a world that is falling apart
with jobless poor strugglers almost without number
and how long I ask the God of the universe
when pistol shots ring out down at the Checkers chain store.

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Satish Verma, 10 june 2014

MILLENNIUM CELEBRATING

I was ready to board the ship
laden with terror on mortal waves.
The patriarch was dying inside
the sleeve of hidden rocks.

Hope and death,
death and hope
flicker in dark. What if the blasts
start again in the cool air?

The planks lick the salt of earth.
Lipless mouths cannot speak.
Departure of sun was blameless,
unanswerable to human wails.

Satish Verma

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Talat Jehan, 9 june 2014

Journey

When we are forced to follow and choose the journey without their destination..
When we are pushed to walk barefooted and with wounded feet..

When we don't have choices..
When we don't have alternatives..
When clouds of uncertainty and disappointment are all around us..
But still we have to walk in a dark..

When we finally reached the door of our destiny..
But there is no key to open and enter that door..
We think we are hopeless and reached a point of no return..

number of comments: 13 | rating: 3 | detail

Gert Strydom, 9 june 2014

At times I wonder where her thoughts go (sonnet)

At times I wonder where her thoughts go
if of my loving, caring and commitment
she really truly knows
or is there a kind of excitement,
in lashing out pain and verbal blows
and then when I am broken and spent,
she carries on as if nothing has happened while my tears flow

and yet our feelings are brighter
than all the stars set in the skies
my love is much more pure and whiter
than any new pluck lily or rose
and I wonder if she knows
about my silent cries,
when she brings pain to our goodbyes?

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Gert Strydom, 9 june 2014

In the morning when I draw my eyes to slits against the bright light

In the morning when I draw my eyes to slits against the bright light
there is magic
that the new morning brings
while I know that I am really living
and I see the butterflies already fluttering on the breeze,
hear birds of which the songs of joy penetrates the soul
and every bee, even the smallest thing
are busy with a praise song.
When dew on the branches are still shining like diamonds
and the sun glitters with every ray in filigree
there are flowers opening their cups
and even though my life at times feels bitter
and this kind of living feels like only a curtailed existence
I do know that I serve an omnipotent God.

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Gert Strydom, 9 june 2014

Where you stand with the garden hose

Where you stand with the garden hose
a seed plume whirls
all around us on the afternoon breeze
and it waits hanging for moments,
bright water shoots through your thumb
and I wonder how many days do remain
to be so perfect when we are together?

number of comments: 0 | rating: 0 | detail

10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

LOST MEANINGS

I smell the fragrance of the falling rain

Every morning her windows are washed clean

There is a seashell

How long?

MILLENNIUM CELEBRATING

Journey

At times I wonder where her thoughts go (sonnet)

In the morning when I draw my eyes to slits against the bright light

Where you stand with the garden hose

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