Zeitgeistlyrik:

A TRAIN JOURNEY (Satis Shroff)

A TRAIN JOURNEY (Satis Shroff)

A screaming train,
Billowing smoke and sparks,
As it reaches Ghoom hill,
Descends to Darjeeling
Looping its way to lessen its speed.

What unfurls is a memorable Bergblick:
The majestic panorama of the snown peaks,
The Kanchenjunga in all its splendour.
The summits like a jeweled crown,
Bathed in golden, yellow and orange light.

A moment of revelation in life,
Shared on a particular evening,
As the sun goes down slowly,
The mountain range is glowing,
A Himalayan glow.

A feast for the eyes of the beholder,
The play of lights
Evoked by the dying sun,
Upon the massif.

* * *

MY MOM'S GARDEN (Satis Shroff)

THERE'S a microcosmos
In my Mom's garden.
I hear her calling my name.
No, it isn't the 'sh' of Sanskrit,
Nor the 'sch' of the Alemannic tongue.
It's a Nepalese accent from the hills.
A French lass prounced it
With an Alsatian lash.

My Mom loved and grew roses.
In Summer the fragrant aroma
Of the pink and red roses,
Worked like aphrodiciacs.

She grew cabbages, salads and lentils,
Took delight in her abundance.
Sparrows flew around busily in summer,
Swallows flew low in winter.
Between June till September,
The torrential monsoon.
A parrot ith red eyes whirrs by,
Brings the day to an end.
The trees, shrubs and flowers are thankful
Towards Indra who has sent rain.
After Dad's tragic demise,
She lives in an apartment in the capital.
No garden, just salbei and a few flowers
On the window sill,
As she prays to the Gods
In the Abode of the Snows.

* * *

WIN THE DAY (Satis Shroff)

WHEN you withhold yourself
You become weak,
For it is you yourself,
Who does this to yourself.

Give in,
Surrender to yourself
And you have won the day.

* * *

STORM IN THE NIGHT (Satis Shoff)

I walke up and peer from my cosy room.
The trembling waves shatter noisily,
With the ebb and the tide.
The frowning cumuli gather in the vast sky.
It's raining and the waves become choppy,
Trawlers are tossed like logs
By the furious water.

The waves thrash on the cliffs,
Which stand to attention
Like sentinels as the war rages,
The krieg of the elements.

Oblivious of the storm in the night,
I take refuge under my warm blanket,
At the seaside hotel Mon Bijou
In the isle of Sylt.

* * *

MAN'S FOLLEY (Satis Shroff)

Bloody colonial migrations in the West,
Blood feuds between white settlers
Versus the Native Sons of America.

Gred-driven ranchers and gunslingers,
Fighting for land and water rights.
This was how the west was won.

Rights?
The rights of the native Americans?
Or the rights of the invading European grabbers?
The Spirit of the Wild West goes marching on.
America is yet struggling with itself.

The clash of haves and have-nots,
The greed for power of the white mainstream,
The conflict of skin and Social Darwinism
Still spills over in Ferguson,
Mother Earth watches over Man's folley.

* * *

(c) The Swabian Gate, Freiburg

(c) A letter from Catmandu

FREIBURG AND CATMANDU (Satis Shroff)

Freiburg: the finest spire in Christendom,
Which bombs couldn't destroy
In two Great Wars.

Old men pulled carts with their belongings,
Along the rubbled Kaiser-Joseph-Strasse.
Women were taken to dances,
By African American GIs.
Children received chocolates.
'Hallo Fräulein!' did the rounds,
In poverty-stricken, ramshackled Germany.

The GIs returned years later to admire
The splendour of cities they'd bombed.
The Fräuleins were elderly ladies now,
Who frequented posh cafes, operas and lectures.

Catmandu: the all-seeing-eyes
Of the primordeal Buddha,
Still welcomes visitors
From around the globe.

The hippies have long left
This cannabis paradise of yore.
Its hotels and trekking lodges offer
Western food galore,
And fast-climbs for dudes and nerds
To Everest.

The Gurkhas still die under foreign skies,
For the Queen of England.
The Sherpas and porters carry the sahib's loads,
Suffer from acute-mountain-sickness,
Or still die as unsung heroes,
As Tigers of the Snow.
The children still beg in its strets
Or work in shady backrooms,
Of outsourced fashion firms.
Cat Stevens sings as Yusuf even today.

* * *