Blessing

 
Blessing

 
How blind we are to pain and misery—
Except when it affects us or our own!
How many smiling faces turned to grief,
How many vanished, never to return!

 
They still exist, within our inner realms.
We hear their laughter, see them smile and weep.
Their voices echo deep within us still—
And so they stay with us, until we leave.
 
 ****** 

 
How many images of scattered gore
And spattered blood—so red, that then congeals!
How much of terror and of horror, yet
They each are gifts that we can cherish still—

 
The images we saw, upon the screen,
Of men and women searching for their kin
And never finding them, because they’d been
Entombed below—or burned and blown to bits.

 
****** 

When death releases us from torture, pain,
Then death becomes a blessing and release.
And though we watched from very far away,
We learned the lessons, while the victims paid.

Some say their cause was hopeless, that they should
Accept their fate and bow and fade away.
We saw the children play, so full of life.
We saw them die. And yet they gave us life—

******  

For we were blind and now our eyes can see.
And we were deaf and now we hear again.
Our hearts and minds were opened and were blessed.
We bear their witness, with their joy and pain.

Can lives be lost to madness and regained?
Can laughter light those faces once again?
Alas! No miracles can bring them back to life.
And yet they live within us—gifting strength.

2025 October 12, Sun.
Berkeley, California

Darkness—and Light

 
Darkness—and Light

We need to see and so to understand

How pettiness and peeve can overwhelm
Our better instincts, blur and blind our sight,
And bend our reason towards disastrous ends.
So conscience dies and truth is buried deep,
As endless lies and endless wars extend
Disaster zones in which the children wail
As parents weep or turn to remnant faith.

The gods and goddesses of ancient yore
Took part, we’re told, in all our grievous sins
Of lying, cheating, loot and murder—yes,
And even now we bow to Mammon’s will
And execute his lethal schemes and  worse—
As both the godless and the theists claim
Their rights to slaughters that will never end.

In all this darkness, growing deeper, might
There still be light that waits for more at dawn?
There surely is, as mind and heart can see
If only turned and opened towards this light—
That strives at every time and every place
To heal, console, and give us more of strength
That still sustains the soul in all that lives.

Behold the darkness, viewing it in full.
Observe the remnant light and cherish it.
The cynics and the ones defeated spurn
The hope that’s offered and the needed fight,
And in so doing aid the dark’s advance.
So recognize this trait, within yourself
As well as others. Understand the plight

Of those who’re wounded, yet sustain the light.

2025 July 5th, Sat. 
Berkeley, California

No Verses

 
No Verses
.
So many verses written—scribbled, typed,
And posted, sent to others far away.
So many more that come at times to mind—
From where—and wherefore—who can truly say?
.
Adrift upon the stream, we near the sea
And hear, afar, the waves that crash and roar.
We sense the dark—the endless, waiting deep.
No verses there—or minds—for evermore.
.
******
.
The dawn that once brought hope now brings despair
As tens of thousands die—or wish they could—
As those who live are filled with grief and pain—
And most, who witness, now have understood
.
That evil often triumphs, laying waste
To all that’s good and precious: tenderness
And quietude—and love and due respect—
As Mammon grins and profits from duress. 
.
****** 
.
How many are the ones who've died in waves,
As lands were conquered or were laid to waste, 
As guns and bombs replaced the clubs and swords,
And Greed and Fear infected all with haste?
.
I hear the children laugh; I hear them weep.
I hear the dying, burned and blasted, moan.
I fear departure, leaving those I know
To fend for selves, with others, or alone.
.
****** 
.
But who among us chooses time or place
To enter or to exit from the stage
On which we walk and act and say our words—
And then depart—at ripe or tender age?
.
The dusk, descending, whispers now of night,
And I will venture out, beneath the stars,
To breathe and try to find a passing peace,
As all around delight in distant wars.
.
****** 
.
So many verses written—scribbled, typed,
And posted, sent to others far away.
So many more that come at times to mind—
From where—and wherefore—who can truly say?
.
Adrift upon the stream, we near the sea
And hear, afar, the waves that crash and roar.
We sense the dark—the endless, waiting deep.
No verses there—or minds—for evermore.
.
2024 October 3rd & 5th.
Berkeley, California
.

Peace-2024-08-09

 
Peace-2024-08-09 

How many months of rapes and lynching mobs?
How many lame excuses, twiddling thumbs?
How many years of bombs and genocides?
How many peoples more dismissed, erased?

Our species, which has come to reign on earth,
Dispenses death in cruel, wanton ways.
We loot the lands and waters, foul them both, 
Pollute the air and act like cancers do, 

Forgetting we are part of a greater whole,
As beings, caught in frenzies, often do—
Destroying all, and so at end themselves.
The wounds and scars are visible from space.

 ******

The forests—they are felled or turned to ash;
The hills are leveled, seeking coal and ores;
And everywhere, the fields and forests yield
To roads that spread the ever-growing blight.

How precious is a life—and yet we take
The lives of others, even of our kind,
As if their worth were nothing, slaughtering
The ones perceived as foes or “lower beasts”.

How often little children recognize
The sanctity of life, have empathy
For other beings, yet, as adults, seem
To lose this sense—or choose to shut their eyes.

****** 

In each tradition, there is talk of peace
And even greetings that repeat its name.
And yet, in thoughts and words and deeds, we move
So swiftly towards our wars—and feel no shame.

Will humans ever, in our lifetimes, turn
Away from madness, veer from evil deeds?
We each are trapped, and yet we still can strive 
Towards sanity—and sow, not evil’s seeds

But those of reason, those of peace and love—
Return to quieter ways, desist from all
Compulsions, pause, give room for thought 
And space for silence—past my spouted words. 

2024 August 9, Friday
Berkeley, California 

Tides

 
Tides

The rhythms of the skies and seas,
The cycles of our lives,
The beats within the lines I write,
The pulse of breath and blood…

As women feel, in their fertile years,
Their monthly rises, ebbs,
So we each can sense the beating heart,
The in and out of breath…

******

The days and nights—they alternate.
The moon—it waxes, wanes.
The seasons come and go and then
They come and go again.

We're carried by the tides that surge 
Around us and within.
So life proceeds, with birth and youth—
And then with age and death.

But these—the seasons of our lives—
They never will return
Within a generation, yet
Will rise and ebb in turn

For others, just as they have done
For generations past.
So let us breathe and be in peace 
Until we breathe our last.

******

But where we see there’s sorrow, should
We choose to look away—
Or strive instead, with every breath,
To ease the weight of pain?
 
For how can we remain at peace
As others suffer, die—
And truth itself has been dispatched
Or hidden by the lie?
 
******
 
The tides of justice turn in time
But not without our aid.
However small we are, we still
Can help to turn the tide.
 
Together, we can try to turn
Towards sanity and peace,
So justice, long denied, is served,
And manmade sorrows ease.
 
2024 Aug 3rd, Sat.
Berkeley, California
 

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
.

Xotto-mitther o'dol-bo'dol-সত্য-মিথ্যার অদল-বদল

.
সত্য-মিথ্যার অদল-বদল
.
মিথ্যে কথা, শুনে শুনে,
‘সত্য’ ভাবা হয়।
সত্য, লুকোনো রাখার চোটে,
মিথ্যের সাজা পায়।
.
মিথ্যের ওপর যত নির্ভর,
ঝামেলা তত, সত্যের।
খোলাখুলি দেখা দিলে,
লাথি খেয়ে বিদায়।
.
******
.
অন্যায়, যখন ঢাকা থাকে,
ব্যাথা দেয় না মর্মে।
জঘন্য আহার, সুস্বাদু ভেবে,
গিলে নেওয়া হয় হেসে।
.
সবাই কি অসৎ, মন্দ? তা নয়,
চোখ যে বহুদিন বন্ধ।
মিথ্যের ঘুমের নেশায়, আরাম।
সত্যে, পীড়ন, দায়।
.
******
.
বিধ্বস্ত, লুণ্ঠিত দেশে, যেখানে
অগণ্য মরেছে পীড়ায়,
সেখানেও, যারা স্মৃতি তোলে,
বারে-বারে হয় ব্যর্থ।
.
‘দৃষ্টির বাইরে, মনের বাইরে’।
আমরা সেটাই ভালবাসি।
আমাদের করে-কেনা বোমা-বর্ষায়,
দূরে, লোকে পুড়ে মরে।
.
******
.
তেতো সত্যটাকে ঘেন্না করে,
মিষ্টি মিথ্যে টাকে চুষে খাই।
তাই, দেখো, অনাথ শিশু কাঁদে,
বাকিদের লাশের মাঝে।
.
জীবন এগোয়। উৎসব, তামাশা চলে।
যেনো সব-ই ছেলেখেলা।
ক্রূর কাণ্ড চলতে থাকে।
লজ্জার চিহ্ন নেই।
.
রবিবার, ১৬ জুন, ২০২৪ খ্রি.  
বার্ক্লি, কালিফোর্নিয়া
৭ই জুনের ‘Inversion’ কবিতার অনুবাদ
 .

Inversion

 
Inversion

The lies, repeated long enough,
Become accepted truth.
The truth, when hidden well, is then 
Rejected as a lie.

And when there’s much that rides on lies,
The inconvenient truth,
On being seen in public sight,
Is given then the boot.

****** 

Injustice, hidden out of sight,
Does not disturb the soul,
And heinous fare, as haute cuisine,
Can then be swallowed whole.

It’s not that all are evil—no,
It’s that we shut our eyes,
As truth is often hard for those
Who've long been lulled with lies.

******

So even deep in ravaged lands,
Where millions died in pain,
The few who raise those memories
May battle still in vain.

“Out of sight is out of mind.”
And that is how we like it.
So a hell may rage for months on end,
As taxes paid support it. 

******

We shy away from bitter truths,
Content with sweetened lies.
And so a child is orphaned, while
Another burns and dies.

So life proceeds, with galas, shows,
As if it’s all a game,
And acts obscene are justified
Without a trace of shame

2024 June 10th, Mon. 
Berkeley, California

Khel-খেল-2024-05-27

 .
খেল
.
বিষের থেকে মধু আসে, 
মধুর থেকে বিষ। 
আঁধার রাতে আলো ভাসে, 
দিনদুপুরে, নিশি। 
.

****** 

.
সুখের দিনে কান্না আসে, 
দুখের মাঝে হাসি। 
প্রিয় আশার মরণ দেখেও, 
চিত্তে বাজে বাঁশি। 
.
এক পা এগোয়ে, দু’ পা পেছোয়ে। 
এইতো ঝুঁকির খেল। 
ধূর্তের পাতে সুখ-দৌলত, 
সাধুর ভাগ্যে জেল। 
.

****** 

.
অবহেলার মরুতে, যত্নের শিশির।
ক্রূরতার মাঝে দয়া। 
নিরাশার রাতে, মুক্তির গীতি। 
তাতেই পীড়ন সহা।
.
সোমবার ২৭ মে, ২০২৪ খ্রি.  
বার্ক্লি, কালিফোর্নিয়া 
.

Truth and Justice

  
Truth and Justice
 
In each of us there is a sense, innate,
Of fairness, just as each of us can sense
Another’s feelings—almost like our own.
And some of us, at least, have always sought
The truth, discarding comfort based on lies.
 
So empathy and truth and justice—each 
Have always been of worth to humankind—
And every script revered appeals to these,
With words like these in treasured texts inscribed.
And yet, injustice reigns—along with lies.
 
****** 
 
And why is this? Some say the cause is greed 
For wealth and power, each supporting each.
And surely these are drives with low regard
For kindness, truth or justice, but there are
Some other causes too, including these—
 
Our ignorance, our fear, our apathy,
And all our history of lords and kings—
The weeding out of those who dared to speak
Or act against the rule of clubs and swords, 
And now the jails of jobs—and rains of bombs.
 
****** 
 
What gain is there in life for those who seek
For truth, for those who see another’s pain,
And those who strive for equity for all?
The gain is more of persecution, pain—
And yet they try, and fail, and try again.
 
Observe the ones who speak against the lie.
Behold the ones resisting, those who die—
Behold their courage and observe their faith.
One might believe in justice after death,
Another not—yet both believe in right.
 
2024, May 14th, Tue.
Berkeley, California
 

Ki bujhechi-কি বুঝেছি

 

কি বুঝেছি?

আমার জীবন, অতি সাধারন। 

নেই গো তাতে হীরে-রতন। 

ঘোসে-মেজে বাসন, চালিয়েছি তাও, 

করেছি আয়, আয়োজন।

ভোরের আলোয় জেগেছে আশা। 

সাঁঝের সাথে এসেছে ক্লান্তি। 

দিনের বেলায় করেছি কাজ। 

শেষের বেলায় চেয়েছি শান্তি।

কত রকমের নিষ্ঠুরতা, 

কত চেতনের কান্না, হায়! 

নির্বিকারে, হৃদয় ঢেকে, 

চলছে পথে, সবাই প্রায়।

কারোর জীবন কষ্টে কাটে, 

কারোর সহজ পথে। 

ধুঁকতে ধুঁকতে লক্ষ হাটে।

কেউ ভেসে যায় রথে।

এই জীবনের স্রোতে ভেসে, 

ভুগেছি কত দুঃখে, ক্লেশে। 

দেখেছি কত দয়া, মায়া। 

কি বুঝেছি, সবের শেষে?

অনেক দেখে, অনেক ভেবে—
লবডঙ্কা, গোল্লা, জিরো!

তাই, হতাশায়, আবোল-তাবোল 

পদ্য লিখে, হচ্ছি হিরো।

সোমবার, ১৮ মার্চ, ২০২৪ খ্রি.

বার্ক্লি, ক্যালিফর্নিয়া

Sacrilege

 
Sacrilege

The only g*n*cide memorialized,
The only one in which we all are drilled,
Repeatedly, through schools and books and films,
With monuments erected, tributes paid,
With pilgrimages due, from those on high
Before we vote, is that which stands alone.

No other slaughters, even those that cleared
The continents on which we settlers live,
Can ever be compared to that Event
Of horror that is singular, unique.

And so our taxes can be used to send
Not only funds but lethal armaments
With which to maim and slaughter thousands. This
Cannot be questioned, nor compared to that—
The One whose name is all but deified.

So through this means, such horrors still are wrought
As might make even hardened mobsters pause
And yet are waved away or justified—
For there can only be that G*n*cide—
That One, that Only, Duly Guarded Thing—
That shields the ones who massacre and starve,
With critics charged with vilest heresy.

And so it is that all the horrors past
And all the ones succeeding that Event 
Of special, primal status, never count,
Nor those that happen right before our eyes.

So truth itself is buried deep in lies,
As bodies are—the dead or still alive—
Beneath the tons of wreckage. Still, we see
The women, children, elders, blasted, burned,
With cats and humans, huddled, homeless, starved,
And lies repeated—till a nation dies.

And some of us have slowly come to know
That even mentions of the victims or
Their land had been forbidden, seen as crimes,
Within the realms of those who’ve realized
With ardent help from other nations, this—
The crime of crimes. And now, in other lands,
The moves are underway, or well in place,
To stem the images and stop the words. 

The goal is not to simply end the lives—
And so the people—but to wipe, erase
The names themselves. What’s nameless can’t exist—
Or so the thinking and the feeling goes,
As power and wealth direct our human flows
And shape our sets of facts, our thoughts and views
By every means—including nightly news.

So is this something new? No, not at all,
Except for what those windows let us see
And hear, as if the ones who sobbed and screamed
Or spoke to us in fright, in measured tones,
Were present where we are, and not where lives
Are snuffed like candles by the blasts of bombs. 

And so we now will see those windows close,
Unless we rise together and resist
And dare to say the word we’ve all been told
Is sacrilege—and yet is naught but truth.

For what had occurred in the past and then
Repeated in our lifetimes is again 
Revived and walking, dressed in black, with scythe,
But wielding now the weapons we have wrought
That burn and blast and bury thousands, while
We coddle those who perpetrate these crimes. 

2024 March 12th, Tue.
Berkeley, California

Ghouls

 
Ghouls

Spare me from the ones who feel no doubt,
Who think they know what things are all about—
The jaded cynics, firm on fear and greed,
The zealots, fixed, of each and every creed,
The ones who walk in furrows others plough
Or practice paradigms, not asking how
These came to be, nor ever asking why
The weapons flow as women, children die,
The ones who close the eye and ear and mind
To all beyond their own exclusive kind,
Who use their labels, stamping each in turn,
To silence those who scream when others burn.

Oh spare me, please, from humans, turned to ghouls,
Who've found their grooves—and clearly lost their souls,
Who still can party, while the children die,
And still have gall enough to spread the lie.

2024 March. 1,  Fri.
Berkeley, California

Sanity

 
Sanity

Amidst the horrors all around, we see
The things of beauty, hear the sounds of joy,
Observe the workings of compassion, care—
And so find solace still—and sanity.

To only note the horror, being blind
To all that still remains of living grace,
Is clearly partial. So it also is
To turn away from cruel miseries,
As if these things were mere imaginings.

How easy it can be to close the eyes,
The ears, and heart and mind, to misery;
How hard it is to turn to it, to try
To ease that pain—or point to it at least,
So others firstly see and then decry
Yet more of endless pain and suffering,
And act together then to end this curse.

******

There is a time for action and a time
For needed rest, reflection and repose.

One needs to close one’s eyes and savor peace—

Whatever little fortune might dispense—
And so to gather strength to live, to think,
To speak and act in ways that benefit
The beings who are helpless and besieged—
No matter what their kind or heritage.

******

When madness dire has seized the populace,
Then thoughts and words and acts are deemed insane
That try to turn from madness back to sanity.
And those who still persist are vilified
And labeled this and that and even worse,
And so, in time or rapidly, they lose
Their friends, their jobs and often even more.

******

We each are subject to what others think
And how they speak and act as they react
To what we say and do. And this is good,
As this constrains us when we are amiss.

But when we take account of frailties
That might be ours and still in peace conclude
That we should speak and act to try at least
Prevent injustice, death and suffering,
Then that is what we need to do, or else
Forfeit what still remains of sanity.

2024, January 28, Mon.
Berkeley, California

Bilape, dibbo gan-বিলাপে, দিব্য গান

 
বিলাপে, দিব্য গান

ভোরের আলোয় ব্যাথা জাগে, দিন-দুপুরে শোক।
চারিদিকে অত্যাচার, অন্যায়, অপমান।
ঘরে-বাইরে হিংস্রতা, মায়া-দয়ার লোপ।
সাঁঝ এলেও, বিরাম দূরে। দুঃখ-ভরা রাত।

দেশে-দেশে হাহাকার, আশা গেছে উড়ে।
মায়ের খোঁজে, অনাথ শিশু। ছিন্ন, চূর্ণ বাপ।
তবুও স্মৃতি, তবুও সাহস। তবুও চেষ্টা, শ্রম।
তবুও যত্ন, তবুও হাঁসি। বিলাপে, দিব্য গান।

বুধবার, ২২ নভেম্বর, ২০২৩ খ্রি
বার্ক্লি, ক্যালিফোর্নিয়া

On Ignorance and Apathy

On Ignorance and Apathy
  

https://empathological.wordpress.com/2012/03/17/emotion-and-ignorance-and-anedotal-correlation/

Ah Ignorance, how sweet you taste!
It's said that you are bliss.
And Apathy, I sing you to you,
Though others boo and hiss.

We go to school and even go
To college, yet we are
As ignorant as one could be,
In matters such as war.

And truly, what can people know
Except the things they see?
So who knows what has happened in
A place across the sea?

And even in our cities, we
Now live secluded lives.
We're ignorant of what goes on
Within our busy hives.

We go to work, in offices,
But there, because we're busy,
We do not know what others do,
Unless we're types who're nosy.

And when we hear a worker is
In trouble, then we shun
That person—as, from insects, we
Now see our children run.

And as for other neighborhoods
Or regions far away—
We do not know. How can we know
Of such things, could you say?

******

I read, at work, the NY Post.
I’ve heard it’s Murdoch’s own.
I get my news from it, my friend.
The rest, I now disown.

The workers in the factories
Are surely useless bums.
They're lazy, like the migrants who
Now crowd the city's slums.

The workers in the government,
The teachers in the schools—
They’re feeding on our taxes and
They’re lazy, worthless fools.

And as for all those Hindus and
Those Muslims, Christians, Jews—
They're all a bunch of murderers,
According to the news.

And atheists? And socialists?
Do spare me those, my friend!
It's better that we're rid of those.
Let's pray their lives will end.

The world is full of primitives—
Not advanced, like you and me.
The others, they are jealous, so
We cannot let them be.

It's better that we take the wars
To them, than they to us.
The peaceniks, they are full of s**t.
To hell with all their fuss!

http://www.differencebetween.net/miscellaneous/difference-between-ignorance-and-apathy/

We're doing well, we're doing well—
With gizmos, buildings tall…
This business about nature, well—
You're welcome to it all.

For might is right. That's how it is.
This world is ours to use.
It says so in our holy books.
To listen, we refuse!

The species rise, the species die.
And so it always is.
So if we’re killing more, why that
Is just the way it is.

We need resources, so to hell
With primitives resisting.
It’s time they got more civilized.
What’s obsolete, needs fixing.

The forests must be cleared. With tribes
And critters, they’re infested.
In timber and in mines, my friend,
It’s time you were invested.

I’ve heard that water now is hot.
Privatization, yay!
The world can’t run on rum and Coke.
It now is water’s day.

And climate change? Organic food?
The ocean turning acid?
They’re hoaxes!  So invest in Shell
And BP and Monsanto.

*******

It's all a fake—a ruse, you see,
To make us number two.
But we are number one, my friend.
And that is me and you.

And some may raise, at intervals,
An issue out of history.
But since we weren't there, the truth
Remains, for us, a mystery.

We went to school and learned that we
Have built a land of glory.
So what if, as they say, the start
Of this was rather gory?

Let whiners whine. It’s onward, ho!
See other countries learning!
So what, if there’s a bit of smog
And forests razed or burning?

Ah ignorance, how sweet you taste!
And apathy?  Why that
Is what you need, or else this world
Will leave you knocked out flat.

We’re all conditioned to believe
And to behave by those
Who flood us with their ads and more.
But now, it's time to close.

And if you find I've contradicted
Everything I've said,
It's all because I'm ignorant
And will be, till I'm dead.

2016 July 26th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York

Left to Be

 
Left to Be

How much of pain and suffering can living things endure?
How much of harsh injustice can our fellow humans bear?
The cruelties surround us, yet we seem to be immured.
Perhaps we could not bear them, if we cared to see and hear.

We each have our survival and the cares of those we feed.
But even one, who’s lucky and has leisure, rarely pauses
To listen and to look with care, to read and understand.
So rarely does he correlate effects with hidden causes.
 
It never will be governments—except for just awhile—
Or financiers who will provide the things that beings need.
They must procure these by themselves, together and alone.
They can, if they are left to be—not mauled by fear and greed.

Though Nature can be cruel, as it also can be giving,
The structures that we’ve built that prey on us are clearly worse.
They’re hard enough, though still with joys—our journeys, each, of living,
Without enslavements, gilt or not.   With that, I’ll end my verse.

2016 February 9th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York
    

Two Na**d Women

        
Two Na**d Women

Doodle-007-Discord

I saw a lady, walking nude –
A dame of Nordic stock.
And people stared as she went by.
They giggled, gaped in shock.

But she was shod – in fu**-me shoes,
With leather straps 'round calves.
And as she passed, I saw tattoos
Between her buttock-halves.

But though I squinted then to see
What the markings meant,
She strode away – and out of sight –
Unclothed – but fed, content...
  
******
   
I later saw a woman, who
Had not a shred of clothing.
She sat, despairing, in the street,
Subjected, there, to loathing.

She'd neither shoes nor sandals and
Her face and frame were gaunt.
Her eyes were filled with anguish – eyes
That will, my nightmares, haunt.

And as I walked, embarrassed, by,
And offered her no hand,
I saw, upon her wrist, some marks
I could not understand...
  
******
   
The first I saw was pink of skin,
The second, she was brown.
The first was smiling to herself,
The second made me frown.

I wondered what the tracings meant
That graced the first's behind.
It mattered not – that cryptic sign
On her I'd left behind.

And in another dream, I saw
The two, reversing roles.
I wondered what that signified
And whether parts were wholes... 

Doodle-002a-Concord

    
2014 July 20th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York    
    

Syria

Syria
                 
I saw the horrors on the Internet,
Of little children lying dying, dead,
Of adults kicking, spasming, being held,
As poison did its cruel work on them.

And if I hadn't had my dinner, then
I probably would rise from watching this,
With dinner warmed and ready, and would  eat,
While chatting with my wife on this and that.

I wonder what we all would do if all
That's perpetrated in a war or peace,
Would reach our screens, so sights of burning flesh,
And sounds of screams were heard as watchers dined.

I wonder.  Then I think, how every day
The men and women drive to work and sit
In front of screens – and guide, to targets, bombs
That then explode in places far away.

And some of them may see the ones who burn,
Who run like ants with clothes and flesh aflame,
And some are children, mothers burned to death,
Or maimed, disfigured, left to rot in pain.

And each of these must then, in turn, arise
And drive to homes where they can eat and talk,
With children and with spouses, some of them,
At peace again at end of working day.

So if indeed we saw what nations do,
Be they perceived as foes or closest friends,
I wonder if the world might change or not.
I think I still might eat and carry on.

But then, of course, we haven't reached there yet,
And if it goes like this, might never do.
We'll see the horrors that we blame on those
We see as foes, but rarely what we do,

Each land has troubles of its own enough,
But when the powers use it as a stage
On which to fight their battles, then we see
Unending grief and endless misery.

In Syria, we see what might be us,
If we have come from India or a place
Where many peoples mix and live as one,
With tensions past and present underneath.

We know the fuse, when lit, will burn and then,
If not put out, will lead to lethal end,
A death not brief and merciful but one
That makes of life and land a living hell.

2013 August 31, Sat.
Brooklyn
   
Strange Encounter