SATIS SHROFF

SATIS SHROFF

Oh, Kirtipur

Archana came from Kirtipur,

The hill of the nose less and earless.

She was a Vajracharya woman

Of the priest caste.

She spoke a language

Full of sweet monosyllables.

A young woman with fine features,

She could stare at one

And see through to the depths of one’s heart.

Raj was a Chettri from the Eastern hills

With a sacred thread on his neck

From the warrior and noble caste.

They loved each other in the Nepalese way,

Talking with their eyes and hearts.

Never in physical ecstasy,

Always platonic and united in dreams.

No rumbas, no slow fox.

Just the sweet odor of her hair and neck

In moments of stolen darkness

In a movie hall,

With two hundred curious eyes,

Focused on the Bollywood silver screen.

Or was it on their necks?

Both were through with their colleges.

She chose to study at Tribhuvan university.

He was awarded a scholarship to Germany.

Archana said, ‘But no one is forcing you

To study abroad. I fear that it’ll take years.

Perhaps you won’t come to Nepal.’

Later, Raj sang, twanging on his guitar,

Squatting below the temple:

‘Oh, Kirtipur, hill of the dead,

The peak of my desire.’

Humans who lay in grotesque positions

Contorted bodies piled on top of each other.

Hands stretching out

Or clutching their amputated

Ears and noses,

As though to stop the pain

And help their blood to clot

On their wounds.

The shame of the Gurkhas

From the fort of Gorkha.

On the day of his departure

Archana appeared alone at the Tribhuvan airport,

With a ritual silver copper plate:

Scarlet yoghurt tika, beetle nuts, spices,

A garland of lotus flowers and sweet meat.

A traditional Nepalese farewell.

A letter came from Nepal.

A physician friend wrote:

‘Dear Raj,

Archana of Kirtipur has married

A Brahmin businessman from Pokhara.

Sorry to bring you this sad news.

Sincerely,

Ashoke Sakya.’

‘I’m sad today said Raj,

As he buried his face

In his blonde fiancée’s lap.

‘How strange and ecstatic it was’ said Yvonne later.

Summertime

I sat in the garden

With Thomas Hardy’s Jude the Obscure on my lap,

And watched a small butterfly

With dark spots on its frail wings,

Violet patterns on its tail.

It was Aglais utricae

Flattering lightly

Between the marigolds

And chrysanthemums.

The Potentilla nepalensis

Was growing well

Under the shade of the rhododendrons.

The great pumpkin was spreading

Its leafy tentacles everywhere.

The tomatoes were fighting for light

Hiding beneath the pumkin’s gigantic green leaves.

A Papilio machaon with its swallow-tail

Came from no where.

The laughter of the children,

As they swung in the garden’s two swings

Were a delight to one’s soul.

Holding hands we strolled in our garden.

You watered the flowers and trees,

I removed long, brown snails,

A hobby-gardener of Nepalese descent,

In a lovely house with character

 in Zähringen an Alemannic stronghold.

Once the subject of dispute

Between Austria and France,

Now a sleepy residential area of Freiburg.

Grow With Love

Love yourself

Accept yourself,

For self-love and self-respect

Are the basis of joy, emotion

And spiritual well being.

Watch your feelings,

Study your thoughts

And your beliefs,

For your existence

Is unique and beautiful.

You came to the world alone

And you go back alone.

But while you breathe

You are near

To your fellow human beings,

Families, friends and strangers

As long as you are receptive.

Open yourself to lust and joy,

To the wonders of daily life and Nature.

Don’t close your door to love.

If you remain superficial,

You’ll never reach its depth.

Love is more than a feeling.

Love is also passion and devotion.

Grow with love and tenderness.

I Saw Love

One wintry evening I saw love.

She wore thin glasses

At the university dancing classes.

We danced fox-trot, cha-cha

Then came the rumba.

I looked deep into her sky blue eyes.

Eyes so blue, without a hint of a cloud.

Clear blue eyes,

Like the waters of the Maladives.

A joyous feeling overcame me.

My hormones were out of control.

My cardiac status said ‘tachycardie.’

My lungs began to over-function.

Hyperventilation.

My knees were sagging.

By Jove, I’d fallen in love.

SATIS SHROFF

SATIS SHROFF is based in Freiburg (poems, fiction, non-fiction) and has studied Zoology and Botany in Nepal, Medicine and Social Sciences in Germany and Creative Writing in Freiburg and the United Kingdom. The German media calls him a mediator between western and eastern cultures and who sees his future as a writer and poet.  He was awarded the Social Engagement Prize of Green City Freiburg and nominated by Stadt Freiburg for the German Social Engagement Prize 2011 in Berlin. Last year he was awarded the Heimatmedaille Baden-Württemberg 2018 for his contributions to literature and Heimatpflege. He received the Pablo Neruda Award 2017 from Italy, as well as the German Academic Exchange Prize.