Along The Battle Lines

Arm in arm we tirelessly fought,
Along the war-torn line;
Comrades together bought,
On by the battle of life.

Everyday from dawn to dusk,
Scampering on along the fringe;
It was nothing but an uphill task,
But not once did neither flinch.

Understand each other we did,
Without service of words uttered;
It was a gruesome ordeal when we bid,
Goodbye at the end of war fully battered.

Peace to the world was announced,
As all around danced in abundant joy;
With the memories of blood shed are we bound,
As we sketch our own life’s war story.

Flights Of Fantasy

If I were given wings,
If I had the gift of flight;
I’d fly out of glimpse,
I’d be the sky’s knight.

I have but no worry,
I have but another treasure;
It makes me no more sorry,
It makes me gay with no measure.

To soar up above in the skies,
To see lands of my dreams;
To be faster than time that flies,
To fly over the rainbow beams.

My soul doth make me lift,
My soul with abundant blatancy;
My spirit hath a wonderful gift
My spirit takes me on flights of fantasy!

Do You Speak 'Indisch'?

‘Do you speak Indisch?’ This is the question I often get plagued with when my acquaintances learn of my ethnic origin. Most of my German pals subscribe to the theory that almost every country has one major language comprehended by the whole populace like German for Germany, French for France and so on. Hence, they came up with the moniker ‘Indisch’ for India – a language in which all Indians should righteously be fluent in. Over time, I have tried to explain that there are about 22 regional languages recognised by the Constitution and one national language which not all are conversant in. This proved to utterly baffling for them. To people who fuss that the ‘Schwabisch’ dialect of German is very different from the unadulterated German, I have news - I recently got my facts right that there are infact 1652 mother-tongues in India. So next time someone offers to teach me Italian or Spanish in exchange for ‘Indisch’, I am trading 0.1 percent of the country of my origin’s lingual capabilities to what their whole nation offers. Well, I got the better deal, don’t you think so?

Alone

The sounds of the world fade,
The sights around all a blur;
It’s been so since you bade,
A farewell, so very queer.

My mind all in a tumultuous whirl,
My heart accepts not this phase;
The words of the soul, so pure a pearl,
Echo in my head, an incorrigible maze.

Undaunted by the hazardous weather,
My spirit stands up against the torture;
It is finally all very crystal clear,
It might be anything but the closure.

To the world, alone I stand on the road,
Alone I do am, but not the least lonely;
For as long as you in my heart I hold,
Lost to me, you never would be, my baby!

Restaurant Cultures

Not being a foodie, it is quite surprising that I am choosing to dabble on this trail of thought. Recently, when visiting my friends in the north-eastern part of the US, I was literally pushed in through the doors of many a restaurant to ‘awaken’ my long dead taste-buds. Finally, they are now awake and kicking and are alarmingly steam-rolling into the state of being over-worked. But that’s not what that struck me the most about these restaurant jaunts.

In almost all the eateries, whether a classy place or a deli, the waitresses / waiters seem to be constantly hovering around your field of vision, often barging in with a ‘Hey you doing OK?’, ‘How’s it going?’ questionnaires. I am not against being cared for in a restaurant but being smothered – that’s not for me. I cannot help comparing the restaurant culture with that in Europe where I have been setting my base for the last few years. The waiters / waitresses in Europe are generally very polite and are thankfully inconspicuous. They are there when you need them and for the rest of the time you are left alone to relish the food and the company for whom you end up in the restaurant in the first place. Contrast that with me in a supposedly classy place in the land of ‘opportunities’ with a pal whose company I was seeking-out for the past few months, trying unsuccessfully to make sensible conversation with pretty waitresses barging in every other minute with ‘Is there something else you want?’, ‘You guys loving it?’ and so on and so forth…… Hello, where is my chance of catching up with the buddy I am with?

Is that what’s irking me or is it because out there waiters seemed to be far and few in number and ‘quality’ compared to the waitresses? Well, that’s another thought entirely…….

Tormet Of Life

Sharp as a spear,
Straight as an arrow;
Onto my heart inner,
Hits the deep sorrow.

Twisting and turning,
Late into the dark night;
It’s nothing but a burning,
Deep inside my heart.

Moments of happiness,
Now a part of my past;
Re-run in the deep recess
Of my heart, now all lost.

Time is the best healer,
Say the very wise;
But it just gets deeper
As I pay the price.

My torment has all the might,
Rendering me wholly numb;
As I search that ray of light
To deliver me from my tomb.