Zeistgeistlyrik: Rain, Colour of Your Eyes (Satis Shroff)

ON RAIN (Satis Shroff)


To the simple Hindu mind

No rain

Clawing dust,


In the entire subcontinent.


Hindu priests make pyres and beckon Agni,

One of the ancient and sacred Gods.

Agni appears in Heaven as the Sun,

In mid-air as lightning,

On earth as fire.


Agni, Indra und Surya,

Who reside over earth, air and sky.

To Hindu astrologers the harbinger of monsoon,

Is Rohini with its beastly heat,

Winds and cracked earth.


Everything changes for better or worse

When the precious rain comes.

Ah, Monsoon,

The metamorphosis of life.

You experience its intensity,

Celebrate it with joy,

For it means renewal,

Saved crops, lush paddy fields in the plains,

Flourising tea terraces in the foothills of the Himalayas.

It means an extension of life

For the Nepalese, Indian, Bhutanese farmers.

If there were no monsoon,

Humans and animals,

Domestic and wild,

Would die.




A word for season,

Pours from the skies

From June to September,

Blessed by Petrus to the Christians,

Sent by Indra for the Hindus,

The God of the firmament,

The personified atmosphere,

Who reigns over Swarga,

The Heaven of the Gods and Spirits.


I saw in Catmandu,

The Newars and Hindus,

Celebrate Indra Jatra.

In Darjeeling I saw

The remains of a couple,

In frozen poses,

Reaching out for help with outstretched arms,

The day after a torrential night.

A landslide had swept them in sleep.


I saw Mumbai engulfed in darkness,

As the chaotic, foreboding monsoon clouds moved fat,

On their way across the Deccan plains,

Sweeping over the Bay of Bengal,

To the foothills of the Himalayas.

Over Cherrapunji, the Ganges delta to Nepal.

The water became choppy,

As I watched the natural spectacle,

Unfolding before my eyes,

Below the gate to India.


Although I was born in the hills,

I’ve always felt a fascination for the sea.

The ever-growing waves

Thrashing against the Malabar coast,

There’s creation for you,

As the pain pitters and patters,

Till it becomes tumultuous,


With cracks of lightning.

It begins to rain endlessly,

Day and night.


© satisshroff 2011


* * *


   The Colour of Your eyes (Satis Shroff)


Blue is the colour of the mountain,

Blue is the colour of the sky,

Blue is the colour of our planet,

And blue is the colour of your eyes.



You have so many names:

Blau, bleu, caerulus,

Neelo, niebes, mavi,

Sininen, sienie,






Blue is the colour

Of your balanced character:

Unshakeable and constant,

Peace-loving and distanced,

Where there’s conflict,

You shy away.


Blue is the colour

Of your responsibility,

Your astonishment

And helpfulness,

Towards your fellow beings.


Blue is the colour of flexibility,

Tender feelings and faithfulness.

Perhaps that’s why

I love you.


Blue is not alone light,

It carries a bit of darkness

With it.

The colour of your eyes

Have an unspoken effect on me.

I feel an ambivalence

 When you look at me.


Ultramarine blue is deep,

The endlessness of the mind.

Your cool blue eyes are distant,

Like an open ocean.

Stimulus and silence,




 I understand you,

At other times,

 I don’t.

Am I day dreaming?



Blau: German

 Bleu:  French


Neelo: Nepali


 Mavi: Turkish

Sininen: Finnish


  azzuro: Italian

azul: Spanish,Portugese

a-oj: Japanese

Annäherung: to draw close to

Vermeidung: shun, avoid


* * *

© 2009 satisshroff




In a country 8000 miles away

He irons the clothes,

Of his children

And spouse.


Listens to Simic, Burns, Milton

In his MP3,

Thinks about his life today.


Yesterday is a closed door,

Today is too much with him.

A lean Teutonic neighbour runs past,

In plain clothes.


He stops ironing,

Turns to his wife and says:

Momo! Look at him,

He’s in a hurry,

But certainly not jogging.’

Mimi, looks more like a flight

After a strife,’ she replies.


Is he going to throw himself,

On the tracks of an on-coming ICE,

Like his father did last year,

In affect after a quarrel,

With his nagging wife?



Simic: Charles Simic, contemporary US poet, originally from Yugoslavia

Burns: Robert Burns, poet (1858-1943)

Milton: John Milton (1608-1674)

ICE: white, streamlined German train , Inter-City-Express


© 2009 satisshroff


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