I dreamed that I had woken and the wars had finally ended.
I dreamed that people reasoned and they knew they did not know.
I dreamed that that those who're humble had a voice that could be heard.
I dreamed that myths were seen as myths and facts were verified.
And in my dream, I went to sleep the sleep of peace, content,
For little did I know that I, to my own self, had lied.
I woke and saw that people, though they seemed to be awake,
Had put to sleep their conscience and, while praising liberty,
Did everything they could to please and strengthen hierarchy.
And so were soldiers sent to war and others to the schools.
And so it was, that though awake, I wished that I could sleep,
For cleverness was ruling and had rendered us as fools.
I heard the evening moan in deep delight,
As the sun went down and the day gave way to night.
And later, I could hear her beating heart
That raced as she succumbed to her lover's art.
Pregnant, with the sightless seed that grows,
Nurturing that child within her dark,
I heard the evening, turned to night, that keened
As the shining moon arose and sailed, serene.
And through the night, I woke and slept again,
Until the light of dawn gave birth to day.
So Winter's passed un-mourned – and lusting Spring
Has wooed and won the Earth in the month of May.
And as the sun mounts up and sends his shafts
To pierce the Earth that's moist from the evening's rain,
The root will delve, the stem will seek the sun,
As the sighted child is born from lust and pain.
2013 May 11th Sat and 12th Sun, Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York (some definite articles added 2016-05-21) 1st stanza and 1st 2 lines of 2nd stanza – May 11th, Sat. evening, walking east along 67th Street – and then south-east down New Utrecht Avenue, beneath the elevated D line 2nd stanza (last 2 lines) & 3rd stanza – Sat. night, at the asphalt playground by the 71st Street station 4th stanza – May 12th Sun, early afternoon, at home
Regret We each remember well the final words Between us and the ones, whom we had loved. And when we pass the spot, where we had last A chance to speak to them or hear them speak – Or otherwise recall that tender past, Then some of us may wish that we had paid Attention more – or uttered kinder words. Alas! The ones departed won't return. There isn't any way to rectify The things we said or did – or to complete Whatever still was left to do or say. And so we sigh and ponder this defeat, As all that's left of those, whom we had loved, Are memories – and ashes in an urn. So many things, on which we daily err, That seem to matter not – but then the day Arrives, when seeming trifles may decide Between a life that stays or vanishes. Our errors small, we fix – but that divide, By which we stand, so broad and deep and dark, Cannot be bridged – except by Lucifer. And so we're left with infinite regret, The only consolation being this – We're powerless and tiny, like the dust, By tempest lifted, blown and scattered far – And all our thought and labor, love and lust Appear as pointless as this universe That spins in grandeur – till its end is met. Arjun Janah < firstname.lastname@example.org > 2013 May 2nd, Thu., 8:15 pm. Brooklyn, New York