FREIBURGER ZEITGEISTLITERATURE (Satis Shroff)

AUTUMN (Satis Shroff) (Wooden sculpture by my friend Thomas Rees, Kappel) Chilly Autumn arrives soon enough, The summer flowers, Those dear friends have gone. Asters and chrysanthemums still greet us. People celebrate the festival of lights, In honour of Goddess Lakshmi. Even the common crow is worshipped this day. For the crow is the messenger of Death, To the Hindus: Yamadoot. Another day the dog is garlanded and revered, For he is Bhairab’s steed. The third day of Tihar belongs to the cow, The reincarnation of Lakshmi. If you beat a cow you might be punished With a life in poverty. Figures   beneath a fungus: sculptor , my friend Thomas Rees The fruits are ripe now, Waiting to be harvested. The sun’s rays become mellow. The leaves turn golden, russet, brown. The paths are strewn with dead leaves. We reflect about our own lives. The dying leaves, A metaphor of your short existence, On this beautiful earth. With splendor of Summer gone, ...

O, CRY WITH ME I (Satis Shroff) Adieu winter, The signs of growth are here, Between sunshine and rain. There’s a subtle greening everywhere. People work line bees, Cutting and pruning weeds Using their ancient hoes To plough the terraces The joy that plants have survived Beneath the deadwood. There’s optimism in the air And with it hope, When crocuses rear their heads. Lovely lupins, delphiniums and daffodils, In the meadows of the Himalayas. People are bathing in the tributaries of holy rivers, Chanting vedic hymns. Those who have lost their mothers, Remember them through rites, Followed by a bath in the river Matatirtha. The sound of thundering hoofs in Tudikhel, In the heart of Catmandu. Snorting and foaming horses, And cheering Nepalese. Spectators who watch the great chariots Of Bhairawa and Bhadrakali. The joy of the fresh air, In the tranquility of the blue Mahabharat hills, Where life begins anew. The blackbirds, finches, thrushes Twitter and chirp to the glory of Prakriti...

Spring Awakening (Satis Shroff) Spring Awakening (Satis Shroff) April weather, A melange of warm Spring days, And cold, wet ones. Capricious weather beause the polar regions, The Atlantic and North Sea are still cold. The continent has been warmed By the high sun in the sky. New clouds cross the vast sky. We are blessed with April showers, That peter out to bright sunny days. Ah, April, April. You know not what you will. The small roots have leafed today. The smell of wisteria permeates the air. The robin,blackbird, sparrows, finches And the woodpecker are busy pecking, Tweeting and chirping on the boughs. The very soil lives, Teeming with ticks and mites, Wriggling earthworms and larvae, Scurrying spiders and busy ants, Bacteria, fungi, viruses. Were it not for the denizens of the soil, There would be no life. Plants and animals are deep kindreds, And genetic mutation causes more diversity. * * * * A Time for Singing (Satis Shroff) In March I was in Sikkim, Admiring the orc...

Ach, Gloomy Autumn (Satis Shroff) The intensity of the sun Has disappeared. A mellowness shrouds the land. The leaves have turned yellow, russet, crimson and brown Alas, the once rich foliage Has begun to die under the October twilight, A natural end. But there is hope For life begins anew next spring. The fallen leaves Are an exercise in letting go. To think that hose very leaves Were so green and gaudy, In the summer months. Now everything seems to be deceasing. Leaves stiff and drooping, Dead leaves, twigs and branches, Are ablaze in the autumnal bonfire, On hillsides, homesteads and gardens. Out of the memories arise wisdom, Like the Sphinx born anew From the ashes of the old, Year in and year out. Doesn’t power have the stain of blood? Ah, my grape vines are gone, Shared by visiting blackbirds and me. So sweet and such a delight, As the juices trickle down your throat. Some elderly storks have ling...

THE SEASONS (Satis Shroff) SUMMER It’s Summer where moist southern winds prevail. Your body, mind and spirit, Are one with Nature. The flowers bloom and cherries get ripe, ‘ Kaphal pakyo, kaphal pakyo ,’ Sings a a bird. The day lengthens And the clouds cannot hide the Surya. Soon great clouds bring rain. Indra gives his blessing: Monsoon. A gift to many, A curse for few. The sun shines now And the leaves sag. The frogs dive in the pond, The dragon fly hovers awhile. There’s life and beauty in this transient world. Summer brings enduring happiness To one and all, When trees blossom and bear fruit. The paddy planting season is over In the Vale of Catmandu. The Newari  jyapu farmers sing songs And rejoice. The sun fills our lives with light, Positive thoughts prevail. The wonderful scent of the roses, Butterflies dancing over Himalayan orchids. Your fingers touch and feel The silkiness of the rose petals. People sing...

SUMMER WIND (Satis Shroff) It’s a lovely morning, the blackbirds are awake and singing. Towards St. Peter and Stegen the sun has arisen in all its golden and scarlet splendor. It’s six o’ clock in the morning on my balcony. A wind blows from Maier’s hill and the rows of pine trees begin to sway. The blackbirds, finches and sparrows begin chirping and twittering in stuccato rhythm. My neighbour’s weeping willow tree on the hill begins a dance of its own, with its long flaying green branches and twigs. The wind on the pines creates a steady wave-like howling din which increases in intensity. It begins to pitter and patter, as the rain is unleashed gradually by the grey rain clouds above. Out in the blue mountainous horizon of the Schwarzwald, the sky still has a yellow glow but in Kappel, a storm seems to be building up. I sit on the chair in the balcony and drink my cuppa Earl Grey tea pepped up with garam masala, and register the rainy phenomenon. Mrs. Loy’s blue lavender,...

WELCOME HOME (Satis Shroff) 'Welcome Home' wrote the London Evening Standard, As the SS Empire Windruch docked At Tilburg in 1948. On board were Jamaican veterans From the Second World War, Who'd fought alongside British Tommies. The headline was never shown again, Britain's door was soon slammed. The Brits tried to forget their history. The post-war labour shortage had seduced them, To their colonial countries. The first generation didn't have A sense of belonging, To the British mainstream. The second generation had an ease of presence, They married British girls, Played soccer at school and English clubs. Black or coloured and British-feeling, Despite the subtle cuts of the meanest kind. The message dawned in them, In the place they were not welcome. Strange that some spoke Of British heritage for all. An elderly Brit veteran, Who'd been and seen all, Mumbled softly: 'Time will h...