Kismet-Tandoori Pass
My evening punctuated by a pungent aroma;
The night air seized and grasped.
Sheer walls of blanketed fragrance
Enclose my senses as the veil of the Khyber Pass.
Here hidden in the hills, the valleys,
Cut by dreary footsteps of weary Welsh,
Fate makes its mark as Kismet does!
Who watches from the terraced Balti?
Who awaits the arrival of the hungry insurgents?
The scent of Jasmine mingles in Tandoori;
The air competes to advertise its presence,
Trapping the mouth watering hungry.
I shift step, moving away from the cars,
To cross the road, drawn forward.
The thoroughfare not that hectic
Shrouds the unsuspecting migrant.
Capture can follow more than one device.
Fire may not be the exchange of choice.
The core of an army rests in its stomach.
Few march when left to their own predicament.
Cultures may meet in opposition,
Or, be subdued by gradual seduction.
The march of time constricts;
Results are reversed by a different victory.
The creation and composition of food seduces;
Barriers are broken down in the exchange.
To some there is an element of philosophy held
Contained in the shroud of precious mystery.
A Nation is a mixture of more than one ingredient.
In time the stirred elements blend or separate;
The finished dish has presumption
Upon the taste buds of the unsuspecting.
Empires are won and lost by indifference!
Identities are lost by ignorance of the inevitable.
The industry of a Nation marks its prominence.
Without activity there is no focus.
Villages are changed by the purveyors of their foods.
Sustenance of self is preserved by its own tradition.
Once change has advanced and subdued the simple
There is no return or rehabilitation.
The cliff face binds the air to its walls.
Those nested watch and wait.
Opportunity will present itself;
Life will follow its ancient course.
Trade is a mitigating point between traders;
Some will haggle to keep the upper hand.
Resentment will bring dissatisfaction;
Agreement will contribute to a wiser harmony.
Will George © July 24,2004