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poetry

Gert Strydom, 12 september 2013

Moments with you

Moments with you I cannot forget,
where I do know about the depths of our love
and in the silences that hang between us
unspoken words are caught

and sometimes just as a child
you have got to find your own words
and discover each other like strangers
and go together to an unknown place

to get a deepening there,
to find a stronger binding of you and I.

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Satish Verma, 12 september 2013

I AM THE LOVER

After separation from death
rain-scented moon was rising
in broken sky. Night birds started
fluting one to another relentlessly;

earth unjointed, was speechless, in
failures we meet often, a little while.
I was ascetic scaling blood pollution,
the life had no mercy, incapable of healing.

You surge for the bleeding miner, the
gold missing, priest was innocent, behind
the peels lies the empty hand, insanity in
parallel depression will find a new praise.

The infinite solitude of the soldier in war
fights the demons of blind desires. One by
one they kill you from the mountain. You
rise from the ocean under twilight of winged stars.

Satish Verma

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Patricia Etienne, 11 september 2013

* America Remembers *

Simply Tuesday morning, a day just like the ordinary
But to some Lucifer's hearts,
It's planned to be a day in hell
And continues to be a hellish memory to some.

Yeah, America Remembers!
A morning that goes the opposite
When the sun overtaken by cloudiness
And darkness spreads onto her land.

Yeah, America Remembers!
A morning that turns out to be
A deadly viper assassination squad.
That serves thick blood on a plate, and tears in a mug for breakfast.

Yeah, America Remembers!
A morning that rips many families apart.
and hold many hearts in sorrow
And lead many children to the orphan world.

Yeah,9/11/01
America falls onto her knees.
It's as if the sword of Zeus is planted into her heart
Oh she weeps and weeps
The tears that fall from her eyes look like the river of the unknown gods.

Oh terrorists!
You strike my land but I'm not destroyed
You shed my children blood
But most are standing tall and vigilant

You must know
With my torch holding up high
I am who they say I am
My road is illuminating for life to come.

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Gert Strydom, 11 september 2013

That an end must come

That an end must come
to the love between us,
that in death we will not miss each other,
not even will know about flowers blooming

and that every human being and all living things
with time will perish,
that all sheer joy and pain
and the things to which a person strives a life long

at a time will go to naught,
is knowledge of which I have got to take heed

but still I do know that God holds everything in His hand
and He writes down every person’s character and humanity
with His almighty pen
until the day when even the elements will burn

and I know that He is beginning a new world
with each and every wonderful and lovely thing.

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Gert Strydom, 11 september 2013

Tonight the sea is tranquil

Tonight the sea is tranquil
and in the distance
the lights of the lighthouse flashes
and is gone
and the nearby Warf is still
while near the horizon a ship moves on
and cars move high up on the hill.

Far away over the sea
there are places
where I have never been
and continents and countries
that I have never seen

and at their set rhythm and time
the waves rushes in
and thunder on the big rocks
as they have from the begin
and yet like a grain of sand
I remain in God’s almighty hand.

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Satish Verma, 11 september 2013

ARRIVAL

Between she and he
and sexuality swoops a gender
patenting a word, as it is,
at the birth's door pretending to
be a kiss of radical thought.
Mediocrity always has an intentionality
with colored plumage, a passionate
dance before the final plunge of
a true love. Black or white, somebody
is etching a dangerous scar on the skin
of a maimed girl. Myalgia of a
nation like a lipless epic on the
while book which cannot be completed.
I wanted to believe in never tomorrow.

Satish Verma

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Geetima Baruah Sarma, 10 september 2013

BHOGALI BIHU

Season’s yield,
Granaries filled,
Mid-January,
Festival Bhogali.
Uruka evening,
Enjoyment and feasting,
Building the Bhelaghar,
Pranks with the neighbour.
The morning after,
Obeisance to the God of fire,
Burning the tall Meji,
Made of bamboo and paddy.
Sunga pitha, kaath aloo,
Customary delights of Magh Bihu,
With friends and families,
Flavours of Assamese delicacies.

[Published in ‘Poetreecreations’ on 8 September 2013]

Short note: Bhogali Bihu is a harvest festival of Assam, a state of north-east India. The festival is celebrated in mid-January, marking the end of the harvest season. Bhogali means feasting and enjoyment. It is also known as Magh Bihu as celebrations are held in the month of Magh, the tenth month of the Assamese calendar. On the eve known as Uruka, people gather for a community feast with friends and families. A variety of dishes that include meat and fish are cooked over wood flame. Using bamboo and paddy, a temporary hut called Bhelaghar and a tall structure known as Meji are built. Merriment continues throughout the night as youths play pranks like stealing vegetables from the neighbour’s garden. Next morning, offerings are made to the God of fire and people enjoy the traditional delicacies like sunga pitha, kaath aloo etc.

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Gert Strydom, 10 september 2013

Maybe you will still love me

Maybe you will still love me
when I die, when I loose all life
and lie under the dark lumps of sand
and become part of the earth
and maybe someone will say later
that nothing could curtail our love

that we did love each other
like no others could.

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Gert Strydom, 10 september 2013

Dialogue

(after N.P. van Wyk Louw)

In a moment my humanity
wants to come to you
and now so suddenly,
let out and tell real things
which make other people numb
and does astonish them

and talk about painful never told things,
have a conversation about the matters
that lies deep in the heart,
speak about things that we might want different,
about things that other people would rather avoid

but when the moon outside rises snow-white,
when the doves at sunset still do coo,
when the smell of flowering jasmine is on the air,
then for moments I do feel stupid
while frequently you gazing loving at me.

[Reference: “Grense” (borders) by N.P. van Wyk Louw.]

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Satish Verma, 10 september 2013

TREMBLING

Sparks are dimmed. No use
collecting them. I will burn my home
to get light.
My god was sleeping.

Let me use the night goggles.
On the ridge walks a silhouette of
limping buddha,
his neck broken.

I did not help myself
falling. He had asked me
'Are you me?'

The anxiety of lifting the rock
again. I gather the grass leaves
on my toes.

Nobody wants to ruin the day
looking at baby silence,
featureless, mute.

Satish Verma

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10 - 30 - 100

Latest items:

poetry

Moments with you

I AM THE LOVER

* America Remembers *

That an end must come

Tonight the sea is tranquil

ARRIVAL

BHOGALI BIHU

Maybe you will still love me

Dialogue

TREMBLING

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