A Foul Disease

A Foul Disease
 
The zealots, found in various kinds,
Will always claim superior minds
And outlooks, teachings and the rest,
Claiming that their ways are best.
 
Do gods need humans, for defence,
Who take, at gibe or poke, offence?
Such gods must then be insecure,
And weak at essence. That is sure—
 
Or else their devotees may think
That punctured dogmas always sink,
Unless the puncturer is caught—
And then, a lesson harsh, is taught.
 
So also, with the monied swell—
And hardline communists as well,
And likewise, with the atheists proud
And so with all, whose faiths are loud—
 
Who cannot tolerate a sentence
Said against these, seek repentance—
Or seek to snuff out words—or even
Lives, attempting to get even.
 
******
 
The right exists, for humankind,
To speak of things we have in mind,
No matter that this might displease
The ones who most insist we cease.
 
It does behoove the speakers, though,
To still be civil, since we know
What happens when civility
Is set aside—and dignity
 
Is challenged. That being said, the speech
Disliked, for its content or breach
Of manners, should be met by speech
Or silence, not by killing speech.
 
Those, who slay in the name of Allah
Or of Yahweh or of Yeshua
Or now for "Dharma" or whatever,
Have caught an old and lethal fever
 
That might not down the bearer, yet
Can kill so many others! Let
This foul disease be recognized
And treatments for its cause devised.
 
******
 
The root in this is disrespect
For other paths. One might expect
That learning can correct this, but
It often further digs the rut,
 
As scripture, even “science”, is quoted,
“Strong support” from this is noted,
And every other path dismissed,
With breadth of vision further missed.
 
So also it can be for creeds
That rest on envies or on greeds—
Or elevate the “wise” to heights
From which they rain on us their slights.
 
Be humble. Know, we cannot guess
The half of it—or even less—
In matters most mundane. Why then
Proclaim on things beyond our ken?
 
There's more—in spirit and in matter—
Than grasped in all our mortal chatter
Or even by the “great immortals”
Who speak to us through prophet-portals.
 
2022, July 15, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Songs-No Better and No Worse

 
                 Songs/
No Better and No Worse
 
I’ve heard the songs of humans, those of birds,
The calls of frogs, the insect choruses—
And I have read that whales have songs, ornate,
With melodies that cross the ocean leagues.
 
******
 
Reflecting on what’s shared in all these things,
Some questions come to mind that might be strange
To others—or may not—that could arise
From what we humans feel on hearing these—
 
But could perhaps be pointers towards the things
That humans long have preferred to ignore,
For reasons justified much less by sense
Than faith—of ancient or of modern kind.
 
Do crickets have a sense of comedy?
Do langurs long for those that they have lost?
I do not know the answer to the first,
But think the second’s answer should be clear.
 
The fish that’s hooked must surely feel the pain
That a human would in such a circumstance—
And just as children can enjoy their play,
So also pups and calves and kittens may.
 
******
 
Pain and pleasure, happiness and grief—
And fear and anger, jealousy and love—
These come and go in us as all things do—
And surely not in you and me alone
 
Or other humans. We are part of life—
No better and no worse than ants or whales—
But special in our ways as all things are,
Including, in our case, the scope of war!
 
A song has length that could be short or long,
And this depends on things intangible.
So also, trees and humans have their lengths
In time, as do the whales and birds and mites.
 
Some things are for a moment, others last
A month, a year—or even till our ends—
And we ourselves are weaves within this flow—
That thread their tunes until it’s time to go.
 
******
 
The songs remind us then of what we are,
Forgotten in our dazed amnesia,

As silence still can do, if it’s embraced,
While letting go of all our prose and verse.
 
2022, July 7^th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York