Song of the Beings

Note: To view the pictures as in a gallery, in a somewhat bigger and clearer format, please single-click on any image.  You can click on the thumbnails at the bottom to move through the gallery.  To return to this post, click on the white X in the black background to the gallery.  Thanks. -- Arjun
---------------------------------------------------------------

This is a nonsense song (with perhaps some sense in it) that started from a phrase used by É.P., an Irish-American, in a "conversation" that  he had with me (A.J., an Indian-American) as we were both commenting on a Facebook post.

Part of that conversation is reproduced directly below, followed by the song.
---------------------------------------------------------------

É.P.: In a previous life, I was a journalist and editor. I also spent 15 years in education. Triple undergrad--English, Journalism, Speech. You're singing the song of my people. ;-)

A.J.: A phrase in your comment seemed to have struck a chord in the strings in my head (!).  Those strings started humming and this is what they said. (See "Song of the Beings" down below.)  It is a lot of nonsense and a bit of sense, mixed together in a stew of a song.

Peace,

--Arjun
---------------------------------------------------------------
Song of the Beings 

“You’re singing the song of my people.” you said.
I wish that it really were true.
I have heard of the songs of the peoples and yet
The songs that I know are so few.

There are songs of the nations, there are songs of the trades,
There are songs of the forests and seas.
There are songs that we’ve learned from the singing of birds,
There are songs that we sing on our knees.

But in truth they’re the same. It’s the spirit that sings
Through the whales and the crickets and men.
So perhaps it is true that I’m singing the song
Of the trade that you cherish and ken.

Let us sing then of words—of their sense and their freight,
Of their music and rhythm and rhyme.
Let us sing then of birds and of dawn and of dusk,
And the flowing, that’s ceaseless, of time.

Jiminy Cricket
http://disney.wikia.com/wiki/Jiminy_Cricke

Let us sing then of Ireland and Egypt and then
Let us sing of the land that we’re in—
Of its past and its present and future and all
Of its beauty and glory and sin.

Let us sing then the dirges for those that have died,
Let us sing too the paeans of hope.
Let us sing with emotion and yet let us pray
That there’s reason that’s left in the dope.

Sand Creek Massacre, Colorado, 1864
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xtGcvs8F11A

Let the little ones dance to the strains of our song.
Let us ask, of the plant and the beast,
That they join in our song, that we all sing along,
For our song, of all songs, is the least.

It’s the least of the songs, it can hardly be heard,
It’s a whisper that seems to have died.
Yet hark—it arises, and softly we hear
It whisper, “Your bosses have lied.”

Donald Trump, real estate mogul and Republican presidential candidate
U.S.A., 2015
http://www.politico.com/story/2011/03/panama-to-trump-youre-fired-051175

It’s the songs of the beings, by “leaders” misled,
By “lords” and by “owners” enslaved.
It’s the song that the horses and asses and pigs
And cattle and humans have craved.
 

a policeman arresting a fugitive
Greensboro, North Carolina, U.S.A., 2013
http://deadspin.com/giant-ass-runaway-pig-is-a-thing-to-behold-472662301

It’s the song that delights, it’s the song that desponds,
It’s the song of the present and past.
It’s the song we’ve been trying to sing, but we couldn’t,
That we all are now singing at last.

It’s the song of the chickens, the ducks and the bees,
It’s the song of the goats and the sheep.
It’s the song of the peasants and workers and see—
It is light, it is dark, it is deep.

Modern Slavery, 2013
https://www.youtube.com/user/walkfreeorg

It’s the song of the tribes that have vanished and those
That are seeing the end of their hope.
It’s the song of the dad who has taken to drink,
And the mom at the end of her rope.

It’s the song of the one who is hoping to die,
It’s the song of the struggle to live.
It’s the song of the wounded, in body or heart
Or in both, who has tried to forgive.

Alcoholism
http://zdorovyj-obraz.moy.su/publ/alkogolizm/3

It’s the song of the millet and barley and wheat,
It’s the song of the rice and the corn.
It’s the song of the seed that is springing to life,
It’s the song of the one that’s reborn.

It’s the song of the prey that is eaten alive,
It’s the song of the predator too.
It’s the song of the knowledge that they both are the same,
That I now have been singing to you.

It’s the songs of the beings, from the starting of time.
It’s the song of the things that are dead.
It’s the song of the courage that gives us our strength,
It’s the song of the feeling of dread.

Let us sing, let us sing, for we’ve only a while,
And then we’ll be singing no more.
Let us sing, let us sing. When we’re gone, they will smile
And sing like we did in their yore.

2015 August 26th, Wed., 10:48 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York

---------------------------------------------------------------

Note: To view the pictures as in a gallery, in a somewhat bigger and clearer format, please single-click on any image.  You can click on the thumbnails at the bottom to move through the gallery.  To return to this post, click on the white X in the black background to the gallery.  Thanks. -- Arjun