I remember when

Here's a bit of music I stumbled upon.

I like the title, and I like how the sleeping wordsmith stirs just a little as the melodies emerge from the chaos



on to other things.

The recent stories have felt forced.

Like drudging memories out from a cold lake, the words for now weave differently.

Ebbs and flows, like a tide no?

I remember more than one accusatory statement.

you don't write anymore...you don't sing anymore...

it takes deep to call upon deep, and inner light to cast shadows and colours.

And for one like me, I'm too used to the sound of the echo to perform to the empty room.

Interestingly, it seems a memory has surfaced tonight.


~~~

Of men and song.

Soldiering and music go hand in hand.

Its a strange statement is it not?

Almost conjures up the picture of the brass shining marching bands, stamping in time across some football field, glittering as they pass.

But no, think of something, more... primal.

The rhythm of a hundred boots, marching in time.

drm, drm, drm, drm

can you hear it?

and in the back ground.

left...left...left...left, right left.

the snare drums and sharp staccatos of the rifles as they blast into the night.

ratatattatatata.

but all these sounds, these layers of polyrhythmn, its not the melody.

It is the collective voices of a troop of men, voicing in a common song that will bring it all together.

Since times of old soldiers have sung to bring them together.

With that I bring you another's memory.

In memorium to the men of SISPEC and for the others that I broke my voice for.

~~~

Mamma, I want to go home.

-----

Fortification.

Doesn't that word sound impressive?

Makes you feel safe even saying it.

Thats what every infantry man wants to say about the land that they stand on.

It means that you are prepared for anything that comes.

It makes commanders want to get up and say stupid things like We hold here! And the enemy will not get past us.

But to us, right now?

Fortifications mean we dig.

On this heavily wooded hill, we dig. Every man digging 6 feet deep and 3 meters wide (yes folks, thats about the size of a volkswagen beetle for every 2 men).

They're called fox holes, miniature bunkers to keep you safe from the enemy bombardment.

If the ground is soft, and the terrain is good. It will take those 2 men 12 hours of continuous digging, moving several hundred kilos of dirt. to form their foxhole.

This night, we called it ground fireworks, as the earth was riddled with stones, and every time the chunko blade swung down, sparks would fly as the metal ricocheted off the rocks.

We had been digging for 8 hours straight, and all friendly banter had long dissolved into the dark night.

All around men lay their finger sized candles in their now waist deep holes as they wearily raised their tools.

The strangely regular sounds of metal striking stone permeate the air.

Thunk!...Thunk! Thunk!

Then the night sky lights up in a flash of blinding light, followed by the whip crack of thunder.

There is just sufficient time for a collective groan as the heavens open, and the monsoon like rains begin.

I'm gonna tell my dad I've made it big it the army!

Why the hell is that?

Coz look at this beautiful swimming pool I got me!

Laughter fills the air briefly before the commander shouts them to get back to digging... as the rain soaked our weary bodies and filled the trenches the mud was a million times heavier than the stones did.

I don't know how many hours passed, but I suddenly stopped digging to look around.
The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, making the area around just visible in the pale moon light.

The men around were moving like zombies in their watery constructs, and somewhere, some poor fools were still finding rocks to clear.

*thunk* ... *thunk* ... *thunk*

then somewhere off to the left, a lone voice raises in the night.


I don’t wanna lead this army life!

PC I wanna go,

OC don’t let me go,

Mama I wanna go ho-o-me…

The last notes echoed into the night, summoning images of hot food and warm beds.

The mental sceneries drifted away like smoke in the cold air.

I gripped my chunko harder, and dug, dug, dug.

- As told by fatboy
---------

Hope i did it justice.


n the Army


(Echo after I/C)

They say that in the army,

The ( 1 ) are/is very nice.

( 2 ),

( 3 ).

~[ Chorus ]~


1 - 2 - 3

Girls - You ask for Mona Lisa -They give you Frankenstein

Sirs - You ask for Captain Bala - They give you banana

Food - You ask for Curry Chicken - They give you chao ta rice

Pay - They give you $100 - And take back 99

Rifles - You pull the bloody trigger - The bullet fly behind

Bunk - You ask for cotton pillow - They give you porcupine


[ Chorus ]

I don’t wanna lead this army life!

PC I wanna go,

OC don’t let me go,

Mama I wanna go ho-o-me…