The Sun at Benaras (Satis Shroff)
My eyes and mind were fading
Under the rays of the scorching sun.
I was at Benaras,
Standing in the polluted
But holy river.
Half naked,
With a sacred thread,
Greeting Surya,
The child of dawn,
The great source of light
And warmth:
The Sun.
You are the nourisher,
The brilliant light-maker,
The eye of the world,
The witness of men’s deeds.
Oh, you king of the constellations,
You,
Who possesses a thousand rays.
I was mumbling a Sanskrit litany,
I’d learned from my dear Mom :
Hara, hara Gungay,
Saba paapa langay.
* * *
Dancing Eyes (Satis Shroff)
The dancing floor,
A heaven to those
Who know how to dance:
The salsa, samba, tango,
The fox and the waltz.
How many shoe soles have I danced,
How may souls have I conquered?
Here I am,
Longing for a dance,
A paraplegic dancer.
I dance now
With my eyes,
Even when I seem
To gaze in the distance.
I hear wonderful melodies
From the Spring of my life.
I dance now
In my mind.
* * *
Isolation (Satis Shroff)
She had a small soul
And little education.
She gave,
But sought
Something else in return.
She loved her husband,
Pampered him in society,
For all to see.
Did she love him,
Or his wallet?
And things money can buy.
She shielded him from his friends,
With whom he’d fought
In the trenches of Stalingrad,
Cornered together like rats,
And prayed when Stalin’s Orgel
Screamed murderously over them.
He needed love and care
After the trauma of war.
Woke up in sleep
With nightmares of the krieg.
He gave up his camarades,
For a wife who said she loved him.
They had sauerkraut and spätzle,
Watched tennis and thrillers on TV,
And had no time for others.
Lonesome pensioners,
In self-inflicted isolation.
What came was depression,
Failing sensory organs,
Sans eyes,
Sans friends.
Varicose veins,
Cerebral sclerosis,
Alzheimer and strokes.
The light went out.
Was someone out there?
* * *
The Feud (Satis Shroff)
The feud I fought
Was not whole heartedly.
I handed it to a lawyer,
Who made a hash of it,
And a judge who was subjective.
I had to pay a heavy loss.
Would it have been better,
Had I put my heart
Into the feud?
Can I forget it,
But not forgive?
Can you forgive,
But not forget?
Questions that still
Torment my soul.
* * *
Wine (Satis Shroff)
He who drinks sings,
He who drinks sinks,
You say.
He who drinks
Drops and spills
His wine,
His self,
His Ich
His life.
And when it’s spilt,
Can you still drink?
Or is it the wine
That spilt your life?
* * *
Seduction (Satis Shroff)
Why do you run after me?
You are seduced by my voice,
My style and verse.
Follow your heart,
Your own words.
Till then,
We go different ways.
We follow different paths,
Though we hear the same rhythm.
And in doing so,
We meet again.
Aufwiedersehen,
Arrividerci.
* * *
The Whiteness in the Zone of Death (Satis Shroff)
The best view of the world
Is from the top of the highest mountain,
The Abode of the Gods.
‘The best way to climb a peak
Is not to give it
A single thought.
Think of a thousand other things,’
Said the climber from abroad,
To the sherpa.
Suddenly it became stormy,
The dreaded whiteout came
With howling, biting winds,
Tons of snow everywhere.
The sahib had only a single thought.
‘Hilf mir, O Gott!’
And cried like a new born baby,
Scared of the wilderness,
Scared of the whiteness
That surrounded him.
He found the sherpa,
Who said:
‘ Here, where you stand,
Is almost the summit, Sir.
Welcome to the Abode of the Gods.’
‘The abode of what?’
‘The Gods,’ said the sherpa.
The climber turned around:
Whiteness in the death zone,
As far as he could imagine.
A step to the right,
A step behind,
And a blood-curdling scream.
Swallowed by a treacherous crevice.
The half-frozen sherpa mumbled,
‘Om mane peme hum,
Vajra guru peme siddhay hum!’
Till sunrise.
He opened his eyes,
Thanked the Gods of the Himalayas
For saving his life,
Felt sorry for the sahib,
And descended with a heavy heart.
