Autumn Night

Autumn Night

The leaf is dry. It skitters down the drive—

A sound that breaks the silence of the night

And wakes us then to all the softer sounds

That come to being, once we pause to hear.

And so I listen to the swoosh of trees,

The traffic on a distant city street,

A tap upon a flagpole—and the breath 

That’s barely heard and yet sustains this life.

I’d swept the yard and driveway, stopped to rest, 

And heard the leaf and felt the evening chill—

And sitting now and looking at the sky,

I think of all our transience and our dreams.

And from that sky, the baleful eye of Mars

Looks down upon us all and seems to say,

“Your autumn comes and you and I are near

And yet you’re just as foolish as in spring.

“And I will move away and come again

And see some others in your place and then

Some others still and others yet again—

But never any end to foolishness.”

I listen to the wind that plays with trees

And hear a neighbor and his son converse—

For just a bit—and then that wind again

And yet another lonely, scuttling leaf.

So autumn comes and Mars and Earth have neared 

For just a while and then will part again.

And some will play at wars and others then

Will tend the wounded. So it always is.

And even Ares sickens of the game—

Or so it seems, as plagues and autumns reap.

But now my sweeping and my rest are done.

I’d like to linger, but I must go in.

2020, October 8th, Sat.,

Brooklyn, New York

Beasts

Beasts

We beasts that feed on plants and other beasts—
We all have bodies and we all have minds;
We need some air and water, sleep and food;
We feel of sorrow, pleasure, pain and joy;
We each are born and live awhile and die—
And none of us know whence or whither, why.

Yet parents rear their children, toil and care—
And children sometimes get to toil in turn.
And beings unrelated by the chance of birth
May do the same for others on this Earth.

So some of us may come to know of love
Or find some insight—or create a whirl
Of mind or matter or of both and then
Regard this as a child that we have birthed
And try to tend it so it lives and grows
Before we vanish to where no one knows.

We beasts devour the plants and other beasts
And yet we recognize the spark of life.
We know that other beings know of pain—
And so at times we act as if we’re sane.

2020 June 19th (Juneteenth), Fri.
Brooklyn, New York

The Virus Calls / A Bit of Hope

The Virus Calls / A Bit of Hope

This virus will not yield to us, I think, 
In time for us to stop its lethal toll,
In spite of all our wits and armaments,
And yet will yield to Nature, like all things 
That form the moving parts of Nature’s whole. 

And so, with the northern spring, as breezes blow 
Through open windows, sweeping out the germs 
And drying droplets, northern folk may find 
That though the Reaper’s rent for April grows, 
The summer’s lease will offer better terms.

But if indeed this bit of hope is true, 
Then those who love their a.c.’s should abstain
And bear the summer’s heat and humid days,
While keeping windows open, paying dues,
So they themselves—and others too—may gain.

******

“What price is there to life?” we ask, and yet
That price is known to those who calculate, 
For tables have been built to catch the flow,
As hapless fish are caught in fishing nets.
But fluids flow—while tables estimate.

And so we balance life and cash and say
That money is what's needed to survive,
And so it is in this commercial age, 
But there are months and years, as there are days,
To pause and rest from all the hype and jive.

And such a time perhaps has come for all
Of us who only see the dazzling light
That's blinded us for long to all that's dark
And of our making.  So the virus calls
Attention to this fact of loss of sight. 

******

A month of fasting surely can't eraje
Our centuries of gluttony, and yet
We see the sky again and hear the birds.
The sight of mountains long unseen amaje.
The air we breathe is as clean as it will get—

For lo, the mills and vehicles have paused, 
And since perhaps the mad and senseless rush
Has been at least abated for a while,
With all the muck that crazed consumption caused,
In urban spaces, there's a rural hush.

The poor are hit the worst in every land
And some are starving, others walking miles
And miles and miles towards their distant homes,
And some will see and sadly understand
As humans weep—and the rest of Nature smiles.

2020 April 21st, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York

Sriti-স্মৃতি-2020-01

স্মৃতি 

হঠাৎ আমার মনে এলো 

সেই এক বৃহৎ গাছ। 

গাছের ছায়ায়, দুলে দুলে, 

সাঁওতালিদের নাচ। 

কোথার থেকে এলো স্মৃতি, 

সে তো জানিনা। 

এই জীবনের স্মৃতি, নাকি 

আগের, জানিনা। 

এই পৃথিবীর পাগলামিতে  

এর’ম স্মৃতি আসে।

মেঘের মতো মনের মাঝে 

কিছু সময় ভাসে। 

 

******

জীবের সৃষ্টি, স্মৃতির থেকে, 

কিছুদিনের, হায়!

আরো কিছু স্মৃতি গ’ড়ে, 

সেটাই রেখে যায়।

******

এইতো সেদিন জন্ম পেলো। 

উঠলো ডানায় ভেসে। 

নীল আকাশের মেঘের মতো, 

কোথায় গেলো শেষে? 

রইল শুধু স্মৃতি বাকি, 

মনের ক্ষেতের মাঝে। 

হঠাৎ আবার উঠবে ভেসে, 

এই জীবনের সাঁঝে। 

স্মৃতিতে তাও সান্ত্বনা পাই , 

অশান্তির এই রাজে। 

হিংস্র চেঁচামেচির ফাঁকে, 

বনের বাঁশি বাজে।

সোমবার, ২৮ জানুয়ারী, ২০২০ খ্রি

ব্রুক্লিন, নিউ ইয়র্ক