Gert Strydom, 9 grudnia 2011
From this city I want to flee,
to find a place of some solace,
not again I want to return,
where city lights sometimes blind people.
I still think about how it was,
from this city I want to flee,
I cannot fit in this anthill,
a bridge to escape, I must find.
The city makes me uneasy,
I want to wander on the beach,
from this city I want to flee,
I want to vanish by bus or train.
Now I splash in a city stream,
at times are in the open air,
about freedom I can just dream,
from this city I want to flee.
Gert Strydom, 9 grudnia 2011
We do live as children of light,
hold happy parties in the night,
with a compatible lovely one,
we find wonders under the sun.
Far too quickly our lives go out
we do not know what it’s about
but sometimes there is nothing won,
we find wonders under the sun.
In life someone is our treasure
with whom we share pain and pleasure
and life has both trouble and some fun,
we find wonders under the sun.
Gert Strydom, 9 grudnia 2011
(after Fredrico Garcia Lorca)
I want to sleep with the same innocence
as the lad who slept among apples
away from the tumult brought by centuries
and awake as if every new day
is a morning filled with new promise.
I long to be at the sea
with the same kind of longing
as the boy who wanted to cut out his heart
because of the sea
to see the surging and swell
to experience the endless energy.
Let me lie down somewhere in the veldt
far away from the atrocities of man,
where grasses, the bushes and trees
grow in splendour
and some animals still roam free
where the first rays of the sun will awaken me.
[Reference: Gacela of the dark death by Fredrico Garcia Lorca.]
Gert Strydom, 7 grudnia 2011
To me she came on one storm tossed night
with eyes shining bright like the morning dew,
she was dressed quite flimsily in white
stepped into my arms before I knew.
She kissed me and in bliss we did play,
we were smitten; it was much more than lust,
every day I must from her keep away;
my friend, companion, lord in me do trust
but when Guinevere smiles there is just us.
Gert Strydom, 7 grudnia 2011
I am confident, they say a sword is
just a sword, but that is not really true
when I draw great Excalibur it hiss,
gleams with a silver-blue kind of strange hue,
without any type of wavering
cuts right through bronze and iron, slices on
and it is a very strange kind of thing
all my fears and doubts of battle are gone;
as it came right out of the hardest stone.
Gert Strydom, 7 grudnia 2011
Now many centuries after his death
I know that there had never been a king
that on this earth did breath
who by his valour and nobility had my heart rising
as Arthur of Camelot, Arthur of the round table did
and although his sword Excalibur forever stays hid
through centuries his tales remains as the token of chivalry
and somehow there is truth and a kind of magic to it.
Gert Strydom, 5 grudnia 2011
When stars appear at night
the garden still have a kind of beauty
when the evening flower opens pure,
when there is love between us.
There I forget any kind of pain
are surrounded by yellow-white jasmine
even when heartache brings tears to my eyes,
when there is love between us
There is the smell of lavender
that softly is carried by the evening breeze,
when I lift my eyes to God,
when there is love between us
In times of pain and longing
the birds are still singing to each other,
under the big old yellow moon,
when there is love between us.
There I see stars sparkling blue,
I never become bitter,
even when death suddenly comes,
when there is love between us.
Still memories are gliding,
as if it can bring you back again,
although my days continue alone,
when there is love between us.
Gert Strydom, 5 grudnia 2011
Your lovely countenance is brighter
than that worn by the hot summer season,
your purity, your integrity is much whiter
than the lily that dwindles without reason.
At a time all lovely things withers away,
disintegrate, weather, with age are frail,
to change are set and nothing can stay,
even seasons change as if they ail,
over time rhyme, poetry is not in vogue,
death removes, memories go to oblivion
people are forgotten, are out of dialogue
and even the greatest with time are gone
but as long as there is love, constantly,
your sheer beauty, men will in women see.
[Reference: “Sonnet XVIII Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” by William Shakespeare.]
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