Bread, bream, bass, muscles, fish soup

Salad, pasta, and glasses of dry white wine!

A handsome 6-foot 5 waiter, glowing

with a smile appeared, to seduce

seven women’s gastronomical yearnings

while sheepishly confessing that

it was only his second day at work

but would try his utmost best to be at our service.

After lunch, we planned to climb the ancient fortification

surrounding the mountain to catch a bird’s eye view

of the lay of the land and keep our imagined enemies at bay,

centuries of helmeted foot soldiers marched

on the valley below looking up the steep incline

praying they would survive the military encounter

…until platefuls of bread, bream, bass, muscles, fish soup

salad, pasta, and glasses of dry white wine

arrived on our table, breaking the spell.

The 6-foot 5 fellow, feasted by seven famished women’s eyes

became part of the menu.

What a delectable delicacy spread it was

at a restaurant in Montenegro.

Cypress pencil pines mark

the verdant pathway to Montenegro,

houses strewn on the foothills of mountains,

the blue morning bay below

looks translucent in its sleepy stillness,

the transgresssors’ confession against their neighbours

buried deep beneath unfathomable abyss,

peace reigns now, my hazy vision scans

the sky for a glimpse of our Lady of the Rocks,

saviour of sailors risking lives on the high seas,

a prayerful gaze has mesmerized my soul.

Surging, gushing, cascading waterfalls

Kissing the verdant leafy terrain,

Nourishing all creatures great and small,

Exhibiting a picturesque display

Of paradise lost from the follies and transgressions

Committed by humankind through the ages.

‘Repentance, forgiveness, redemption’

Shine like faint stars from a distance

Whispering in our ears to wake up

From our deep slumber and remember

Who we truly are!

On the road again.

I see pieces of history flash back,

the tall stoney mountains watch

generations pass by stamping

imprints of follies and imagined grandeur,

war and peace, the executioner god

impersonator, Emperor Diacletian’s ghost

whispers Immortality, his spirit hovers

Above the remnants of his palatial delusion,

I pass borders beyond dreams.

On the road again.

The diverse landscape of Croatia,

so alluring and sensuous, its natural splendour

seduces the eye, our global spirits christened

by the oceanic blue, emerge to enjoy

the harvest from the sea, the wines from

the vineyards, the oil from the olive trees, the sight

of snow-capped rugged mountains contrasting

the greenery from neighbouring parts.

I hear the orchestral performance

of dancing blue waves, imagine the light variations

feasting my eyes, walk the cobblestones across

a bygone past of a richly storied land

replete with architectural remnants

of the invaders’ legacies of triumphs and losses,

I step on two worlds simultaneously,

vicariously living the history of the old and the new,

experiencing a subliminal visitation

of the spoils of war, the spilt blood on virgin soil.

The diverse landscape of Croatia

sings a song that forgives human travesty

and embraces the common ground of all journeying souls.

Twenty-four travellers

stepping onto the past and present in one full sweep

in Opatija, Zadar, Dubrovnik,Montenegro,

Krka, Bled, Ljubljna—

layer upon layer of historical mementoes shine

like gold nuggets of preserved ancestral legacies.

Mediterranean climate, mountainous terrain,

lakes and oceans, seaside settlements,

Number 24 stand in awe,

casting an eye on the Adriatic Sea,

breathing fresh country air,

walking on cobblestones,

a remarkable lightning speed bolt

of cultural immersion for us,

temporarily blown away from our homelands

to see other parts of the world,

feeling our horizon of understanding broadening

when on the road, we tunnel into caves of revelation

from stories old and new, of conquest and survival—

Romans, Ottomans, Venetians, Hapsburgs, fascists, non-aligned

new face of socialism, your people’s longing for peace and unity

turning your face away from the clutches of the cold war,

and away from the umbilical cord of protectorates,

perpetually dreaming of the liberation of your country,

you have long memories of your richly storied land;

and we, Number 24 – global spirit travellers stand with you,

privileged to hear your stories!

breakfast

Cooking paratha in Old Delhi

rickshaw

bus

tuk tuk