My Father’s Photographs of India

 
My Father’s Photographs of India

There's happiness and even joy
Within this world we’re in,
Yet measured out to just a few—
Or so it seems to me—

As humans, all together, shape
The human world and more,
With just a few in leading roles
And others pulled in line.

But when I look at photographs
My father once had taken,
Along with images of woe—
Of famines, riots, flights— 

And those of workers under stress
In factories, sewers, mines—
I see the faces—calm, composed,

And even smiling wide—

Of peasants in the villages
Among the hills and plains,
Of tribal folk in dignity—
Not bowed, but standing straight—

Of people living common lives—
But not in misery,
In poses, choreographed, it seems,
Within a flowing dance. 

******

The interruption of that dance—
The speeding of the pace—
The separation, competition—
Is what we humans face.

******   

Inequities of ages, borne
By those who worked the hardest—
Those still persist, but added on
Are pressures more destructive.

We each can shrug and say, “So what?”
Or say that this was destined,
Or pause, reflect, and ask if we
Have choices still for freedom.

That word—it once had resonance
And gave the people hope
In struggles that they fought and won
Or lost—while still persisting.

So every generation must
Do battle in its turn—
Not giving in to cynics or
To apathy or fear.

Yet those who care and those who dare
Are few and far between. 
The rest of us would rather shut
Our eyes to cruelest sins.

****** 

I see the images on screen
Of what is happening now—
And I am sickened to the core—
As long ago I’d been

When working with the refugees,
In nineteen-seventy-one,
Who’d left behind their homes and farms
To flee across a border.

How difficult it is for me,
Now even more than then,
To watch this manmade suffering,
And see no end in sight.

And yet, I look at photographs
My father took of those
Who died when people rose to greet
The “Naval Mutiny”.

And lo—the women, children, men,
Who lie there, stripped and dead,
With bullets through their heads or chests,
Are clothed in radiance.

2024 July 30th, Tue.
Berkeley, California

Ba~xir D'ak-বাঁশির ডাক

 

বাঁশির ডাক 
 
নিষ্ঠুরতার কোনো সীমা নেই।
অত্যাচারের রাজ
শেষ হবে না কাল-পরশু,
চলছে জোরে আজ।
 
হত্যা-কাণ্ড ঘটছে সদা।
ধ্বংসে, ক্রোধের জয়।
কত জীবের, জীবন ধরে,
দুঃখ, পীড়ন, ভয়!
 
******
 
তবুও দিন আর রাতের লীলা।
তবুও ভালোবাসা।
অন্ধকারের গর্ভে তবু
ভোরের আলোর আশা।
 
তবুও দয়া, তবুও মায়া।
তবুও সত্যের খোঁজ।
তবুও সাহস। বাঁশির ডাকে
চেষ্টা চলেছে রোজ।
 
সোমবার, ২২ জুলাই, ২০২৪ খ্রি
বার্ক্লি, কালিফোর্নিয়া
 

Din ket'e jae-দিন কেটে যায়

 
দিন কেটে যায়
 
গির্জা ঘরে ঘন্টা বাজে, 
দিন কেটে যায়, ওরে। 
সপ্তাহ্, মাস আর বছর কাটে, 
ঋতু, বেলার ঘোরে।
 
জন্ম-জীবন-মরণ লীলায় 
জীবের জগৎ দোলে। 
নতুন জীবন পেয়ে জীবি 
পুরনো জীবন ভোলে।
  
নীল গগনে মেঘ উড়ে যায়, 
দিন চলে যায় ভেসে। 
শ্বাসের সাথে স্মৃতির সারি 
বিদায় নেবে শেষে। 
 
কোন্ জগতে জন্ম আবার 
চোখ বোজবার পরে? 
রাতের শেষে প্রথম আলোয় 
জাগবো কাদের ঘরে?

 

শনিবার, ২০ জুলাই, ২০২২ খ্রি

বার্ক্লি, কালিফোর্নিয়া

Yin and Yang-2024 July

 .
Yin and Yang (2024 July)
.
The predator attacks the prey,
The parasite, the host—
And sea and land and air in turn
Convulse and take their tolls.
.
We humans feast on plants and beasts
And torture both of these.
The facts of life on Planet Earth
Were not designed to please.
.
****** 
.
And yet, there still is happiness
And pleasure mixed with pain,
And moments, both, of utter grief
And purest joy and bliss.
.
So smiles and laughter alternate
With worries, frowns and tears;
So hunger stokes the appetite,
As distance strengthens bonds.
.
******
.
So sorrows deepen shallow minds, 
And pleasures lull awareness. 
Yet age may not let wisdom in,
And tyrants live the longest.
.
We turn from things unpleasant, so
This lets those fester more.
There’s good and bad in all of us.
Cartoons precede the gore.
.
****** 
.
And yet there still are thoughtful men
And women in the world,
And children try to comfort those
That they perceive as hurt.
.
And parents labor hard to feed
And rear their little broods,
And some who're aged or ailing still
Are cared for in their turns. 
.
******
.
The greens of trees appear serene;
The blues of skies delight.
The yellow blooms that dance in winds
Can turn our moods to bright.
.
And see, amidst the massacres
And cruelties and woes,
The light of caring still persists
As courage fights its foes.
.
****** 
.
The yang within the yin—and deep
Within the yin, the yang.
So good and evil intertwine,
As light and darkness do.
.
We can choose to turn to darkness
And to speed the spread of hate—
Or turn towards the light, before 
That turning comes too late.
.
2024 July 17th, Wed.
Berkeley, California
.

Backyard in the Northern Summer

 
Backyard in the Northern Summer

The backyard’s long remained untouched,
Except by cats, raccoons,

Whose paths are marked by grasses bent
Beneath, beside the trees.

The many shades of green ascend
Towards a sky of blue.
The sun is almost overhead
And bathes us with its brilliance.

****** 

In tropic climes, the summers could 
Be times of misery. 
In northern lands, we welcome them
For the blessings summers bring— 

Relief from winter's cold and dark,
Relief from snow and rain—
A chance to see the sunshine and
To feel its warmth again. 

****** 

And there, within the dappled shade
Where weeds and grasses grow,
The breeze is moving shadows, leaves
Amidst the green and coolth. 

Little beings shelter there,
Living out their lives.
And some are roused, and others sleep,
As sun traverses sky. 

****** 

A life of work and hurried haste,
Of rarely seeing the sky,
And now—this languor in the sun
In a backyard, wild, untended— 

Where hummingbirds at times are seen
And squirrels, jays compete,    
And one can savor bits of peace, 
While aged and in defeat. 

2024 July 15th, Tue.
Berkeley, California

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These backyard photos were taken on 2024 Aug 6, about 3 weeks after the writing of the text. In between, the grass had been cut and the bigger wild plants pulled out. So the backyard had finally received some tending.  I had also been washing, drying and sunning bed clothes in preparation for visitors. 

Peace and War

. 
Peace and War
.
The silence and the summer sun
On California’s coast,
The rustling of the leaves of trees,
The distant, passing train,
.
The letting go of everything 
Of which I once could boast,
The touching by the cooling breeze,
The easing of the strain,
.
The blue of sky, the green of leaves,
The warmth of sun on skin,
The calling of the bird I hear, 
The sway of grasses tall—
.
These all combine and so provide,
Within this world of sin,
A music of the eye and ear
That brings relief to all.
.
******
.
And yet, the all-devouring greed
Will rarely pause to taste
Of all of this that beings need,
While laying more to waste. 
.
So wealth will flow, accumulate,
And bombs will fall and burst,
As burnings rise, along with hate,
And children die of thirst.
.
****** 
.
I call to those who've closed their blinds
To open windows wide
And look, with open minds and hearts,
Across the harsh divide—
.
To see that children, everywhere,
And women, are the same—
That sentients feel of grief and pain,
As humans should of shame.
.
2024 July 15th, Mon.
Berkeley, California
.

Cars and Cannons-Mars and Mammon

 
Cars and Cannons / Mars and Mammon
 
Tweedledum and Tweedledee 
Are running neck to neck.
And Tweedledum says Tweedledee
Is out to ruin and wreck
The nation. Tweedledee, in turn,
Repeats the selfsame charge,
Saying, “Everything will burn
With Tweedledum in charge.”
 
We’re forced to choose between the two
Or find a better third,
Or simply sit and sadly rue
The spectacle absurd—
As Mammon sits on high and laughs,
And Mars conducts his wars,
And Venus smiles beguilingly
To sell us those—and cars.

******
 
The lies go uncontested by;
It’s all about the show.
The Tweedledums, the Tweedledees—
They come, they strut, they go.
We're so distracted by the games,
As Mars and Mammon thrive,
That those surviving what these do

Are sorry they’re alive—

For no one cares, as weapons flow,

Like water does, to wars,

And profits flow, in torrents too,

As Mammon rides on Mars.

So children, women, scream and die

Or silently depart—

As some are buried, some are burned

And others blown apart.

******

 
So those, who’re better off, advise,
“Go pour yourself a drink!
Or go and buy an SUV.
It’s time you paused to think:
The indices will rise and fall,
And millions more will die,
As those who seek and tell the truth
Are humbled by the lie.”
 
The gods of War and Commerce rule
As all of us bow down,
And she who stands is thought a fool
And run right out of town
Or suffers fates much worse than that
As the kings of new do battle,
While bowing still to the ruling gods
And herding us like cattle.

******
 
So cars and cannons still are sold
And we can hear them roaring.
The prices of their shares and stocks
Will yet again be soaring
As Tweedledees and Tweedledums
Distract, yet more, the masses,
And all of us remain as sheep
Or bray with pride like asses.
 
And some are worse, some better, yes.
We choose the lesser evil,
While plants can only yield to both
The locust and the weevil.
One eats the whole; the others snacks
On sap and seeds and leaves.
We humans? One, who reasons, smacks
His head, as one believes. 
 
2024 July 5th, Fri.
Berkeley, California
 

Till We Die

.
Till We Die
.
So “science” is placed upon a throne that gives
It more of title than of power, while 
In vassalage to commerce and its drives,
With human wit and industry subsumed 
By all the cash that builds up capital.
.
This puts us on the roads of noise and rush—
The paths that lead us more and more away
From quiet observation—being one
With all existence—and our reverence
For life and all of Nature's balances.
.
Our sense of right and wrong, a sense innate
That judges what is fair and feels the pain
Of other beings—this is dulled, obscured
By distance from the acts that we defend
Or those about which we are ignorant.  
.
Afraid of depth, afraid of painful sight,
We close our eyes and ears and so our hearts, 
With minds and senses jaded, scoffing at
The ones who bring attention to the wrongs
Or struggle hard to change what isn’t right.
.
This mass retreat to dwell in shallowness—
Is this from age—and  all the buffets borne
Through years of struggle to subsist, survive—
To do what’s right in even little ways—
To find that even these were scorned and blocked?
.
Or is it from the long-accustomed ease
Of “going with the flow”, “not making waves”—
That most of us have followed through our lives –
As evils grew—with our acquiescence—
With basic ethics leashed and pegged in place?
.
I do not know—but see this in myself 
And others of my age and even those
With many years remaining in their lives.
It is as if we all have given up
On even seeing past our small cocoons.
.
So hopes of changes for the better lie, 
Along with youth, within our garbage cans,
And even younger folk are blinded by
A loss of sight as more of us are turned
To serfs that sell our labor for a wage. 
.
And yet, we still have senses left to use—
To know and try to understand the world,
However poorly, yet with diligence, 
With patience, inner sight, humility,
And courage still to question and rebel.
.
And doing this may often cause us pain,
With scorn from others when we speak of things
They do not wish to hear. And yet there is
The truth, perceived, that undercuts the lie, 
That each can softly whisper, till we die.
.
2024 July 3rd, Thu.
Berkeley, California
.