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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/272199
Rated: E · Poetry · Comedy · #272199
The ballad of an army deserter.
The English language is the greatest living language in the world . It lives, breathes , evolves and let people take liberties with it. You only have to have an open mind and not be concerned with grammar and pronunciation to have a bit of fun.

The following piece of poetry comes from the land of Bengal in India. The backdrop is a war with neighboring China. All Bengali's consider themselves to be writers and poets. They consider themselves thinkers and not fighters. Our protagonist is however drafted into the army. This is the poetry of a foot soldier and an army deserter.

The English is pronounced with the heavy accent of a local dialect. The author is anonymous. He did not have the guts to tell the world that he had run away.

Its different. Take it with a pinch of salt.
****
BALLAD OF A DESERTER
---------------------

Blady war on our boarders,
Sons of Bengal bheel crush these hoarders.
All join CRP and Army,
Bugger Chinese must flee.

Recruiting offishsars specially named,
Whife say Bholanath don't be shamed, (wife)
Put your name on top of the leasht, (list)
Phor phree clothing and phresh pheesh. (fish)

To the depoh all are sent,
Banerjees, Choudhurys all did went,
Debs, Deys, Duttas and Das, (surnames)
Shaking posterior with big arse.

Guptos, Ghosh, Guhas and Mondols,
Looking like many dhobi bundles, (laundry)
Mookherjee, Chatterjee, Mazumdar and Mitter,
Grinding tooths for hurt(heart) is bitter.

Shum-one is shouting tarn to right,
Phor medical exam and eyeshight.
Doctor is telling undress phull,
But I am feeling blady phool.

Doctor putting tape around chest,
Breathe in and out and dam the rest.
Myself feeling bhery sai(shy),
Doctor is pheeling near thigh.

Now for khaki clothing go,
I am rushing but dhuti tore. (dhuti-loose dress)
Pushing, heaving, jostling and banging,
But I pheel something is hanging.

Clothes not criteria, not to worry,
Bholanath Sen nebher pheel sorry. (never feel)
Phor Sons of Bengal least care,
Any dam cloth we bhere. (wear)

Donning bush coat and khaki pant,
Boots and belt with cap on Cantt.
I am looking jolly swank,
Surely I wheel gate offishsars rank.

Shum-one shouting 'at-tention',
But how to fight without a gun,
Now offishar shouting phall in quick,
Jumping, gibing blady kick.

Marching smirtly in jauntless phashion,
Bengal's hurt(heart) is barning with passion.
Gibe us guns and habe compassion,
We can't fight in nonsense phashion.

News is comming bhery grabe, (very grave)
Whife says Bholanath you be brabe. (brave)
Shosur and Shashuree shitting tight, (Inlaws)
Why phor are they getting phright. (fright)

NEFA area we must defend,
Bengal heroes to the end.
Nebher mind cease-phire planed,
We will phight with chata in hand.(chata-umbrella)

Asham border getting hotter,
What I care for whife and daughter.
Chinese buggers I will slaughter,
Oh by God I am passing watar.

Chinese buggers all good fighters,
Sons of Bengal mostly writers.
Let the jawans phight with knibes,(jawan-infantry
We are palaoing to our whifes. (running)

Whife is telling Bholanath be bold,
So I am gibbing all her gold.
Market prices bhery phunny,
Raaskel buggers are making money.

People gibbing a lot of guph, (rumors)
Communist being rounded uph.
They are telling going to go,
Yes, I telling but hurt(heart) saying no.

When I hear the bugle call,
I will eat my macher-jhol. (fish curry)
I'll palao like true Son of Bengal, (run)
Clutching dhuti, kombol and all.
(clothes, quilt and all)
Chinese buggers comming nigh,
I am hiding with behind high.
They are gibbing battle cry,
While I pray for Kali Mai.

Now I am asking all of you,
Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Anglos too.
Pray Chinese do not come,
Phor all will die weeth bullet in bum.

© Copyright 2001 Bhaskar (mbhaskar at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates have been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work.
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/272199