The Last Battle

The grey sky wears a pallid haze
A faint eastern glow soaked in rain
I walk ahead, forlorn and so lost
A broken soul, an empty mind trenched in pain

'Twas the night, that hour of din
Blinded by hatred, fighting with blind compassion
Vanquishing my foes, spewing bullets in daze
I remember, those dying eyes and lolling heads so ashen

Death hangs in the air now, it moans and sings
Ravens and kites pecking at human entrails,
The echo of gunfires has subsided, the war's now won
Yet lost, a scared battlefield, as somewhere a mother wails

For the nation's glory, I butchered many a soul
Now, engulfed in ignominy, the soldier in me wanes
I mourn the death of a brother, I mourn the death of a son,
In the folds of silence, I now pray for peace, for love that remains.

[Writers Blend entry for the month of April, based on the theme 'War' ]

Guest Blogger: Thinker-Girl

The most curiousest, most delightful thing happened to me yesterday.

When I talk about the Esbjorn Svensson Trio, I do so with the reverence that most Gods recieve. So there I was, sitting opposite this wonderful woman I had known for all of two days, mind-boggled when she told me that she "studied weet Eysbyern at the Royal College of Music". Yeah, she said that. And then she gingerly ripped another morsel of roti (swedish pianists are ambidexterous, forgive my sarcasm) as though nothing had happened! When she was done chewing the thing, she smiled at me and said, "I didn't know E.S.T was famous in India. I like his music too. Esbjorn always had a wonderful way of playing". I excitedly explained to her that the chances were likely that I was the only person in India who had heard of E.S.T. Before she ripped the next bit, she quickly said, "You have good taste in music."

Chew Cecilia, chew. While I drift into one of my mindtrips. My favourite pianist, wow. So I'm connected to Esbjorn Svensson. W O W!

What's that? Your brother's name is Esbjorn as well? Charming.

But, I mean, he's human too, right? Of course people would know him. But then again, imagine the odds of that - a swedish name, intonation unheard of in this country, my favourite pianist, Svensson! Unbelievable. And you, jazz-singing angel from the west, nordic energy come to stir my love for music anew, indifferent to all this veneration, look at you! The web of life is so intricately simple. Six degrees of separation afterall then. Or less.

Ah! listen to Vineet in the other room. He chooses the piano over lunch.

My second favourite without a doubt.

"Yes, he IS a musical genius in the making, isn't he?"

He'll be my Svensson someday...