Basics

Basics

 
Give me a man of a simple sort,
With an open heart and mind,
Who is free of schemes and of meaner thoughts,
With a soul that is pure and kind—

 
For he’ll gladden my heart and cleanse my soul

And turn me away from sin.
And this is true for a woman too 
In every land that I’m in.

 
We live in a world that is full of woes
That are born out of greed and hate,
So we need such men and such women too,
Before it is far too late.

******

 
Where caring and courage both are alive—
There, I will send my heart.
Where one or both have disappeared,
From there, we should all depart.

 

****** 

But if we are stuck in a land we loved
That is blighted by hate and fear,
We should think of the men and women—those 
Who had made it so special and dear.

 
I bow to the man of a simple sort
And a woman, too, of the kind—
For they are the salt of the earth—the best
That I ever could hope to find.

I will not ask of their tongue or faith

Or the land in which they were born,

Except to bond and to hear and talk

With a heart that is free of scorn.

 

2025, April 20th, Sun.
Berkeley, California 
 

Xo'bkichui ki becakena-সবকিছুই কি বেচাকেনা

 
সবকিছুই কি বেচাকেনা?
.
বৃদ্ধের কাছে এসেছো, 
আশার অপেক্ষায়?
এদিকে তো আশা আমার 
লোপ হয়েছে প্রায়।
.
সবকিছুই হচ্ছে শেষে 
ব্যবসা করার উপায়।  
বাকি যেনো এলেবেলে—
সরিয়ে দেওয়া যায়। 
.
ব্যবসা আবার কি কারণে? 
ধনের জোগাড়, ভাই।  
এটার জন্য, আরো কিন্তু 
অনেক কিছু চাই।
.
চাই চাহিদা, খোলাবাজার, 
কেনাকাটার শখ।
তা না হলে, ব্যবসা কোথায়—
খাঁটি হোক বা ঠক?
.
সস্তা তেল আর কয়লা, ধাতু,
সস্তা বিজলী, জমি,
সস্তা শ্রমিক—এ না হলে, 
হবে কি কেউ ধনী?
.
ও হ্যাঁ। জমির দামটা যদি বাড়ে,
তাতেও ব্যবসা হয়।
লোকের স্রোতে, জমির দামে
হচ্ছে কবে ক্ষয়?
.
অন্য উপায়? সব-ই শেষে
খাজনা-সুদের জোরে।
দুটোই তো ভাই গুন্ডা-ডাকাত
দলের সৃষ্টি, ওরে!
.
ঋণ আর ভাড়ার নেওয়া দেওয়া— 
এতেই জগত চলে।
জগন্নাথের রথের টানা,
বন্দী জীবের বলে।
.
শ্রমিক, সৈনিক পাচ্ছে বেতন, 
খাটছে, লড়ছে তাই। 
হোক বা না হোক চাষটা সফল, 
খাজনা, সুদ তো চাই।
.
শক্তির, ধনের সিঁড়ি আছে, 
খাজনার, সুদের ধাপ।
সৃষ্টিকর্তার আইন, নাকি—
মানুষ জাতির পাপ? 
.
******

.
বড়লোকদের দোষ দিও না। 
দোষ তো প্রতি জনে।
অনেক রকম ব্যামো আছে, 
মানুষ জাতির মনে।
.
তবে সবচেয়ে বড় ব্যারাম, 
শক্তিধরের লোভ।
‘সম্পত্তি’ আর ‘আমার, তোমার’—
এতেই যত ক্ষোভ।
.
মানুষ জাতি স্বাধীন ছিলো—
যেমন চড়ুই শালিক।
জমির ফাঁদে পড়লো খাঁচায়।
ডাকাত হলো মালিক।
.
রাজা-গজার কাল চুকেছে।
ধনিক, পরম পতি।
প্রগতির এই যুগে, দেখো 
উন্নয়নের গতি।
.
মানুষ জাতি খুব-ই চতুর!  
দেখবে, দেশে দেশে,
উদ্যোগ আর বাণিজ্যের বানে, 
শুদ্ধি গেছে ভেসে।
.
সবকিছুই তো বেচাকেনা। 
পুরুষ, স্ত্রী ও তাই। 
মানুষ-দেবের সৃষ্টি এটা। 
কি আর করা, ভাই?
.
এমনি ভেবে, হাল ছেড়ো না, 
পোদ্দার যতই হাসে।
খাঁটি জিনিস, মায়ের দয়ায়, 
বিনা টাকায় আসে।
.
খালি হাতে এসেছিলে,
যাবেও খালি হাতে।
দুঃখ, খুশি—দুটোই খাবে, 
যেটাই পাবে পাতে।
.
চেষ্টা ক'রো। ভয় পেয়ো না। 
মধু, তেতো চেখো।
যেটাই আসে জীবন পথে, 
সেটার থেকে শেখো।
.
জয় বিজয় তো আসবে যাবে।
চলবে জীবন লীলা।
বিমল রেখো মনটা শুধু, 
খেলছো যখন ক্রীড়া।
.
******

.
ধন উপার্জন? করবো না, ভাই, 
এই ব্যাপারে মানা।
সংসারে যে বাঁচতে হবে,
তা তো সবাইর জানা।
.
কিন্তু এটা হয় না যেনো
মাতলামি বা নেশা।
কামের নেশা অনেক ভালো।
তাও কি কারোর পেশা?
.
হ্যাঁ হ্যাঁ, জানি। সেটাও আছে।
উদাহরণ বাজে!
প্রত্যেকের-ই নেশা আছে—
মালে হোক বা কাজে।
.
মানুষ জাতির এটাই আকার।
হয়তো সেটাই ভালো।
কিন্তু, একটা নেশার চোটে, 
নিভছে বাকি আলো।
.
নিভছে আশার আলো, তবে
বইছে আগুন-ঝড়।
মুখ ফুটে তা বললে, ওরে, 
পড়বে মুখে চড়।
.
খিদায়, বোমায় মরছে যত, 
ততোই বড়াই, ঠকের। 
দুঃখ, ব্যথা বাড়ছে যত, 
ততই চড়াই, স্টকের।
.
এসব বুঝেও হাল ছেড়ো না,
দুঃখে যেও না ঝুঁকে।
দয়া, কৃপা স্মরণ করে, 
আশা রেখো বুকে।
.
প্রতি জীবে শয়তান আছে, 
প্রতি জীবে সন্ত।
দুঃখ, ক্লেশের ঢেউয়ের নিচে,  
বইছে সুখ অনন্ত।
.
মরন-শোকে, মুক্তির খোঁজে, 
যেও না মক্কা-কাশি। 
নিজের গাঁয়ে, খুঁজলে পাবে 
ছোট্ট শিশুর হাসি।
.
কারখানা আর গঁজের চাকায়, 
মরছে রাশি রাশি। 
তাও তো দূরে ডাকছে, শোনো, 
সেই রাখালের বাঁশি।
.
শনিবার, ২১ সেপ্টেম্বর, ২০১৯ খ্রি 
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউ ইয়র্ক

In Debt and in Surfeit

In Debt and in Surfeit

How troubled are our lives—and needlessly!
Our tribulations are engendered by
our own entrapment in the webs we weave.

How meager are the needs that must be met
so we may live, with freedom from distress.
The air we breathe is free—and so should be
the water that we drink.  We each can feast
a fortnight, just on rations carried on our backs.
We also need, in climates of extremes,
some shelter from the elements—and none
of us can live for long in icy cold,
without the clothes and heat that we require.
No primates ventured near the frozen realms,
except the ones who stitched and tended fires.

But that is all we really need—except
ourselves and those that give us company.
And in this last necessity, we find
a richness and a solace that had served
us well, providing culture, memory
that passed through generations—woven strands
that still endure—although we now retreat
to hermit cells, preferring to subsist
on those connections more in our control,
so keeping humans off at distances,
while drowning still in debt and in surfeit.

Till yesterday, we lived as foragers,
content and fully human—that, which we
are now no more, except in vestiges.

2017 May 5th, Fri, 6:10 pm
Milestone Park, Bensonhurst
Brooklyn, New York 
  

There Still are Joys

There Still are Joys

The despots and the ogres spread their woe.
They wreck our lives and rob us of our peace.
Yet one by one, like each of us, they die,
and some are gloried still—or vilified.

I walked, the other day, upon the green
and felt the grass and earth beneath my feet.
I caught the scents of burning autumn leaves
and looking up I saw the changing sky.
 
Which tyrant, hurried by his need to win,
could quietly savor water, earth and air
as those, untroubled by such urges, could?
And yet, how many still might worship him.
 
So those, who seek their worth from inner fiends,
and those, who crave the world’s attention, vie,
while those, who suffer at their hands, perceive
there still are joys, as long as life persists.

2016 November 9th, Wed.
Brooklyn, New York, 4:27 pm
  

Slowing Can’t Be Right

 
Slowing Can’t Be Right 

How much of all our suffering is due
To speeding when we should be going slow?
We work and eat and couple now at speed
And rarely notice all the harm we do.

So some can thrive, with sense and conscience stilled,
While others suffer from their actions or
Perceive the things that go unheeded while
We're busy rushing through our hectic lives.

******
 
We live our lives of loneliness and fear
And seek our consolations where we can.
The sun may rise, the little birds may sing
And yet we sleep or go to work in dread.

We live in isolation, torn apart
By all the tempests blowing through our lives:
The storms of Nature and the works of Man—
What others do and what we do ourselves.

We’ve lost the arts of tolerance and fun.
We turn away from relatives and friends
And seek our entertainment and our worth
In things and places distant from our earths.

We learn to race, forgetting how to slow.
We spend our lives acquiring knowledge, things—
While losing wisdom and that freedom true
Of living like the ones still human do.

You’ll find them in the forests and the hills,
In regions far removed, on arctic ice
And in the places of the scorching sun,
Beleaguered now as they are pushed to die.

They do as belly and as conscience bids.
They live and die in goodly company.
They have no money. Their possessions, they
Can carry on their backs as lightest weight.

They pay no rent to landlords or to banks.
They answer to no bosses, being free.
There is, among them, neither “high” nor “low”.
They’re born, they smile and weep, and then they go.

And some might say that I romanticize
The lives of those that dwell in poverty.
But I reply, “What wealth could ever buy
The gems of love and of sincerity?”

And others still might say, “We disagree.
We would not trade our lives for such as these.
Besides, there isn’t room, upon this Earth,
To live as once we did, in misery.”

So each may view the grass that’s distant as
Of greener hue or less than that beneath.
And we might say, “The world is changing, so
We cannot now remain as once we were.”
 
But should we then surrender to the flow
That takes us where some others want us to?
Or should we say, “We still are beings free,
Who choose our lives to be as they could be?”

******

The one that halts, when all around stampede,
Might well be trampled on—and even die.
But when the wiser start to slow and turn,
We slowly could return to clarity.

The question is, “Will sanity prevail
Before our madness breeds catastrophe?
And some might say, “We’re told that’s happened, yet
We do not slow, for slowing can’t be right.”

2015 August 30th, Sun., 3:28 pm
(first two stanzas added Sep. 2nd, Wed.)
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
   

The Poet’s Complaint

The Poet’s Complaint

I met today, amidst the snow, a man I’ve known awhile,
Who stood in ragged clothes, while I was bundled head to feet.
A poet was this man, and when I asked him then, discreetly,
Why he did not dress like me, he answered, with a smile,

“I dress the same, no matter what the season.  There are trees
That clothe themselves throughout the year – yet are, in winter, bare.
But just as there are men like me, who, whistling, blizzards dare,
So there are evergreens, like pines, that winter cannot freeze.”

But I had grown impatient.  So I cleared my throat and said,
“I’ve known you now for many years, and so I’ll speak my mind.
‘To those who best apply themselves, to them is Fortune kind.’
If only you were working, you’d be better clothed and fed.”

The poet, he was silent for a moment.  Then he turned
Towards me and he smiled again, although I knew I’d wounded.
“There’s work and there is work,” he said, “and just with that, I’d end it.
But I have also known you long.  Our friendship, each has earned.

“And so, I’ll speak now seriously, no longer just in jest.
I feel I should explain myself, at least perhaps to you.
For I have lived for long – and so, with years remaining few,
I should not leave, misunderstood by those who knew me best.

“I’ve lived a life of poverty, as others often said,
And yet not lacked for anything, except what can’t be bought.
By most of the Enticements, I have never yet been caught,
Except the Muse of poetry, to whom I’ve long been wed.

“So when I’m dead, if burial of ashes then is fit,
Upon the tombstone, you can write, ‘He wrote his fill of verses,
And for this crime, received in time his fill of all our curses,
But never seemed to mind – or ever made an end of it.’

“And if my writings then are burned – or verses thrown in trash,
Remember then, that though I worked as hard as any other,
I never did, throughout my life, cause much by way of bother,
And neither did my labors or my verses garner cash.

“So if I’m judged by standards that are mercenary or
Derived from views that value only what is deemed ‘productive’,
Then surely I will be condemned.  For I was neither active
In such pursuits – nor think that these are all we’re living for.

“But if I still have one complaint, it then is surely this –
So many ways there are to live awhile and then to die,
And yet we spend our lives ensnared by every dressed-up lie,
While leaving naked truth aside – and so, our chance of bliss.”

I’d listened to his verses, in his singsong nasal mumble,
And when he stopped, I saw that he was shivering from cold.
And if I were a braver man, or harsher, then I'd scold
This poet for his foolishness – that came out in a jumble.

But being who I am, I only told him, “I have listened.
Perhaps you ought to hurry now, to where you can be warm.
It’s freezing – and I fear that, in these clothes, you’ll come to harm.”
He turned to leave.  And at his chin, I saw a drop that glistened.

2013 January 4th, Sat.
(stanzas 2-5 added Sun., early morning)
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn  
  

Faith

Faith

Is there an isle, in an ocean blue,

Where decency remains,

Where men walk nude and women too,

And no one sane complains?

Is there a village, perching high

Above the clouds that rain,

Whose village elders rarely lie

Or deal for worldly gain?

Oh, there are islands plentiful

And villages sans measure,

Where decency is still the rule

And honesty's a treasure!

The ones, who still are decent, they,

In humble actions, trust.

And those, who still are honest, speak

But are unheard by us. 

"Should we have faith or should we seek

For evidence?" you ask.

"It's faith that gives us eyes to seek

And patience for the task."

Babui / Arjun

2011 June 4th, Sat.

Brooklyn
----------------------------------------------------------
  
Related: Faith-II
( http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2017/07/faith.html )