Tides and Seasons

   

  

Tides and Seasons 

The seasons come; the seasons go in turn,

As Autumn, Winter, Spring, and Summer dance

As they had done, with other seasons too,

In days gone by, preceding me and you.

  

How many worlds within this universe!

How many universes come and gone! 

How many beings, born to live and die,

With no one knowing whence or whither, why!

  

The seasons of our lives can last a while

Or swiftly pass. We’re left with memories

Of faces, scenes, and cares and passions past

That stay with us as long as breathings last.

  

The Ocean’s tides and those that rise and ebb,

Within us each and also all around,

Have varied strengths and varied rhythms, yet

They harmonize in ways that we forget.

   

The balances that pulse and oscillate

Around the means are what our beings sense

And so we dance with these—the seasons, tides

That bring us life with all its turning rides.

   

2026 February 24th, Tue.

Berkeley, California

  

Planet

   

Planet

  

Upon this planet with its blues and greens,

Its many shades of browns and other hues,

And all the other sights that daylight brings—

That ever changing light, from dawn to dusk,

With shadows stark on golden afternoons,

With clouds and peaks of white against the blues—

  

Yes, all of this and all the night’s delight,

With planets, moon, and stars and galaxy

Revealed for those afar from urban glare—

Upon this planet I have lived and seen

These wonders—glowing, timeless and serene—

Or so it seemed, amidst the constant flux

That marks our lives upon this spinning Earth. 

 

I’m grateful, yes, for all these sights I’ve seen—

For all the solace from the blues and greens

And other visions that remain with me

Of this, our planet, till I cease to be.

  

Amidst the madness, these have kept me sane.

Amidst the heartless, these have nourished me—

As have the actions and the care of those

Who see beyond the self and see within. 

  

These give me light and hope, amidst the sin

And all the darkness of the world we’re in.

These give me faith—and give me courage still. 

   

2026 January 19th, Mon.

Berkeley, California  

 

 

 

Paradise

 
Paradise
 
How precious are the tranquil times that come
And bring relief from all the stress and rush.
How rare these have become, for most of us,
As lethal madnesses pervade our worlds.
 
But still, outsides the war-zones, there's the dawn
With softest light, the morning bold and bright,
And then the noon and afternoon, and dusk
That calls to rest—and brings the stars to night.
 
For some at least, there still are meets at times
With friends and kin that bring back memories,
For others, only what remains in mind,
Reminding them of hell and paradise.
 
I still retain my faith that’s shorn of creeds—
The faith primeval in the truth and right—
That hears, amidst the cruelties, the voice
That calls to those who heal and those who fight.
 
2025 August 31, 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

Magic

 
Magic

We humans have abilities that awe
That when unhemmed by ethics and by law
Can lead to great calamities indeed. 
No magic can suffice, when few will heed

The voice of conscience and the pull of heart
As ears are deafened and we're pulled apart
By hatreds born of ignorance, instilled.
And so are prophesies, of hate, fulfilled.

****** 

So you and I and others have conversed
On how to end the wars with which we're cursed,
As more and more of science, art, and craft
Are used to wage what reason sees as daft—

What every heart and wakened conscience feels
Descends on people, trapped, and blindly steals 
From these, its victims, all, including life,
And so maintains the never-ending strife

That heaps, on generations, more of woe,
With senseless hatred turning friend to foe
As every act unjust and every blow
Begets its offspring, violent even more.  

******

So each of us has asked, in silence and
In speech, if anyone can understand
The sense behind this senselessness and show
A way by which to stop—or even slow—

The rush to our destruction: sober those
Whose hubris causes hearts and minds to close,
As blissful, willful ignorance parades
As truth—and blatant lies inform charades

Performed by rogues, as legislators cheer
The murderers of children, feel no fear
Of judgment, further seal their hearts
And practice, daily, more deceiving arts.

*********

If I could wave a "magic wand", I would—
And make those evils disappear, that should.
So bombs would all reverse, and bullets too—
And then we might be smiling, me and you—

As every missile sent and every shell
Would turn—and so return! It would be hell
For every bully, armed with war machines,
As "magic" gave the rest of us vaccines

Against their bribes, their threats, and all the fear
And horror. So these wars would disappear—
Of mass destruction, misery, and death—
Replaced perhaps by even worse! Regret

Could then descend on well-intentioned me
As all my "magic" turned out, not to be
The thing I'd hoped for. Squeezing evil, I,
Would see its means to lengthen and defy

My efforts to contain it. So elastic
This scourge of ours could be, that only drastic
Measures might suffice to bring to end
This evil that afflicts us all, my friend!

*********

And what could truly be more drastic than
To end our species, twinned as woman-man?

It might perhaps be time for diving deep
Within the wilds of psyche, through the sleep

In which we often spend our waking days,
With steps, as usual, on accustomed ways
Of habit born of training, so we see

What seers saw, informing you and me,

In wordless ways that cannot be expressed 
In verse or prose, of That which so impressed
The ones who saw that they awoke from sleep,
Enlightened—and connected with the Deep.

******

It’s only this, it seems, that could provide
The insight and connection that abide
And so inform the heart and mind to steer
Away from that which then is seen as clear. 

Is it “good and evil”? Simply, “right and wrong”?
Or was and is this cleavage, all along,
Misguided—clouded by a lack of sight
Of those connections needing pause—for light?

Our feelings, thoughts, and words and deeds, we see, 
Are ripples on the surface of a sea
That can be whipped by winds to stormy waves.
And yet, beneath, there’s peace—a strength that knaves

Cannot perturb. And some may call this “faith”
And others, “insight” or “connection”. Fate
Can put us each in peril and in stress, 
But only grace can change a “no” to “yes”,

Delivered from the heart—and not by force. 
So endless lies and wars may take their course
With cities laid to waste and no one spared.
The spirit lives—in those who saw—and cared. 

And this, dear friend, is all I have to say
To end the many words I’ve said today.
There is indeed a magic: it’s within;
It gives us strength to see—and not to sin.

2025 March 7, Fri.
Berkeley, California 

To See Ourselves in Others

 
To See Ourselves in Others
 
We humans have abilities, remarkable indeed,
And some are quite admirable—of thinking, word, and deed—
And others, though amajing, may leave us quite perplexed
And even, when encountered first, so maddeningly vexed
That only introspection might, in course of time, allow
An insight into origins—including why and how
Behaviors, strange, and attitudes emerged and then prevailed
That still persist, in most of us, that might appear derailed—
Divorced from justice, empathy—and even reason, sense—
Controlling much of how we feel and think and act. The whence 
And wherefore of this human world cannot, indeed, be known
Until we see and understand the things that we disown
In selves and those we see as ours, ascribing these to others
We see as simply alien, although they’re born of mothers
And like us, have emotions, thoughts, experience pain and pleasure,
And yet are seen as different, by every human measure.
 
To see ourselves in others, and others in ourselves
Is often sadly lacking, amidst our clans of elves
With all our seeming magic and all our scheming ways, 
And all our sights and blindnesses that guide us through our days.
 
2025 February 27, Thu.
Berkeley, California 
 

Orphan-2025-02-18

Orphan
 
I heard a distant wailing,
A moaning from afar.
I found an orphan crying,
Abandoned, in a war.

I found an orphan crying—
A little child, alone.
The sound was of a sobbing—
And then, at times, a moan.

I had heard a distant wailing,
A moaning from afar.
I had found an orphan crying, 
In the carnage of a war.

******

I went up to the orphan.
She looked at me in fright.
I bent to lift the orphan
As the daylight ebbed to night.

I lifted up that orphan.
I held her to my chest.
I saw her tears were shining
As the sunset lit the West.

I had found a little orphan
In the wreckage of a war.
I had found an orphan crying
In the madness of a war.

******

I looked for parents, siblings.
I found them, one by one.
A grandma lay there, dying.
Said, “Save the little one.”

I told her I would do that,
But did she understand?
She breathed her last and left us,
As I held her feeble hand.

******

How many little orphans?
How many children slain?
How many burned and crippled?
How many wracked with pain?

Whence—this cruel madness?
And why—these blinded hearts?
Go ask this, then, of “humans”,
As the light of life departs.

She once had loving parents—
But now was all alone.
Go ask them for the reason—
The ones whose hearts are stone.

******

I held that little orphan.
I held her to my chest.
I heard her growing quiet
As I walked towards the West.

I had found that little orphan,
Abandoned, in a war.
I saw a light was shining—
The brightening evening star.

I looked towards that planet
As it rose and shone above
The bodies, lying scattered,
That each was born of love.

2025 February 18, Tue.
Berkeley, California

Bho'e cher'e o'nto're de'kh-ভয় ছেড়ে অন্তরে দ্যাখ্-To Look, with Love, Within

ভয় ছেড়ে অন্তরে দ্যাখ্ 

যে দেশে জন্ম, যে দেশে মরণ,

যে দেশে সফর, বাসা—

সে সব দেশে, ক্ররতার সাথে,

বয়েছে ভালবাসা।

দুটোই দেখেছি, দুটোই ছুঁয়েছি,

দুটোর-ই করেছি পান।

ক্রমশ বুঝেছি, প্রতি দেশেই

দুটোর-ই ভাটা ও বান। 

  

****** 

যেমন শত্রু, যেমন মিত্র, 

বুঝেছে কবীর-রুমি,

শুখ-দুঃখে, বাসনা-ব্যথায়,

তেমন-ই আমি-তুমি।

রাতের শেষে, ভোরের আলো,

সাঁঝের শেষে রাত—

এ ভাবে আসে, এ ভাবে যায়

জীবন, শাসন, জাত। 

****** 

নেই কোনো নিচু, নেই কোনো উঁচু,

আছে শুধু আসা-যাওয়া, তাই—

শান্তিতে এসে, শান্তিতে থেকে,

শান্তিতে যাওয়া যেনো পাই।

নেই কোনো বেড়া, নেই কোনো পর—

অন্তরে-অন্তরে এক।

তাই ব’লি তোরে, ‘হৃদয়ের আঁখে

ভয় ছেড়ে অন্তরে দ্যাখ্’।

বুধবার, ১৩ই নভেম্বর, ২০২৪ খ্রি.

বার্ক্লি, কালিফর্নিয়া 

--------------------------------------------

To Look, with Love, Within

The land of birth, the land of death,

The lands of journeys, ends:

In all these lands, the rivers flow—

Of cruelty and care.

I’ve seen and felt their presence, yes—

I’ve tasted both their waters.

In every land, I’ve realized, 

These rivers ebb and surge.

******

As with the foe, so with the friend—

As Kabir and as Rumi had seen—

In joy and in war, in pleasure and pain, 

So also with me and with you.

At the end of the night, the light of dawn;

At the end of the dusk, the dark.

And so they come, and so they go—

The lives and the reigns and the species. 

******

There’s neither a higher or lower, my friend—

There’s only the coming and going. 

Arriving in peace, remaining in peace,

In peace let us die and depart. 

There’s neither a “self” nor an “other”—no,

In essence, we each are the same.

Let us leave aside fear and venture to dare

To look then, with love, within.

2024, Nov. 13, Wed.

(transl. from Bengali to English, Nov.16)

Berkeley, California

Leftist Creed

  
 Leftist Creed

When empires, big and small, compete,
And slaughters, with injustices, repeat,
Then should we side with one or the other, or
Unite to work against the Left’s defeat—

The death, impending, of resistance to
The power and wealth that’s leading me and you 

To slaughter one another, while they both
Grow dense—and profit from our labors too? 

There still is true-and-false and right-and-wrong. 
Our histories of lies and deaths are long.
So why not learn from these and organize
Against the endless wars and all that’s wrong?

So let us seek the truth and do what’s right—
Not yield to impulse or to clouded sight,
Avoid the frictions based on chance of birth—
And so know when to greet and when to fight.

To see, within both friend and foe, the I,
That sits within oneself—that insight—why, 
It's there in children, found in other beasts,
And yet is lost to many a heart and eye.

2024 August 18th, Sun.
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 

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
.

Jot'ilo'tae murkho-জটিলতায় মূর্খ

  
জটিলতায় মূর্খ
 
কত শিশুর কান্না শুনি, 
কত মায়ের বিলাপ। 
কত বাবার দুঃখ, নিরব।
পাপের ওপর পাপ।
 
দয়ার গীতি গাইলো কত 
ভক্ত, সাধু, পীর।
ঘুমের থেকে জাগলো কত 
বুদ্ধ, মহাবীর।
 
তবুও বোমা, তবুও তোপ।
হত্যা, হাহাকার।
প্রাচুর্যের পাশেই আজও
তৃষ্ণা, অনাহার।

******
 
এই জগতের শোকের মাঝে, 
তুচ্ছ আমার ক্লেশ। 
নেই গো কোনো জাতি আমার, 
নেই গো কোনো দেশ।

******
 
কোনো দলের পক্ষ নিয়ে 
করবো কেনো মান?
যেথায় যখন চেতন জাগে, 
সেথায় তখন স্থান।
 
অন্যের সুখে খুশি আমার,
অন্যের পীড়ায় দুঃখ।
এই টুকু, ভাই, জেনে আমি
জটিলতায় মূর্খ। 
 
ইতিহাসে, বিজ্ঞানে,
কত কিছু আছে।
সরল মনে থাকি তবু
মানবতার কাছে।
 
শনিবার, ৪ মে, ২০২৪ খ্রি.  
বার্ক্লি, ক্যালিফোর্নিয়া 
 

The Salts of the Earth

  
The Salts of the Earth
 
The oceans, they are one, we know,
Though known by various names.
And when their currents meet, they mix 
And mingle over time.
 
But one may sink, the other rise,
Or travel side by side
For quite a while. Their colors,  shades
May vary widely, while
Reflecting, each, its history 
And so its current state—
Its temperature, its density, 
And all it carries. So,
Our races and our cultures—these 
Are varied, yet are one—
And so is all of sentience,
In all its forms diverse.
 
This summarizes all I know—
So here I'll end this verse.
 
2024 April 25th, Thu.
Berkeley, California
.

Self and Other, True and False

 
Self and Other, True and False

Beware of those who claim that “we” alone
Are special, deem the “others” base—or worse.
“Be not beguiled by demagogues.” remains
The thrust of much I write in prose or verse.

Beware of “leaders”—those who lead, with words,

The rest of us to evil, breeding hates.

Let's cleanse our minds and hearts, before the acts

That follow fear and hatred seal our fates.

 

Beware of lies that masquerade as truths.

Be cautious, always, of the things you learn

From sources other than the here and now—

For every “nation proud” is fooled in turn.

 

Let's open mind and hearts to views and news

That contradict the ones we now may hold.

Let's free our vision, widen it in scope,

Discern the truth, reject the lies we’re told.

 

****** 

The line between the “self” and “other” serves
For function and defense—and that is all.
Observe that line—and watch that line dissolve.
Behold the One that manifests in All.

That One is naught but Sentience itself—
That seems fragmented. So, the predator and prey
Are each the same.  And this, we sentients know,
Although we’re trapped by rules that we obey.

And some of these are primal, dating back
To times primeval in the muck and slime
Where life emerged and then began to feed
On other life—as life has done through time.

But other rules are those we have imposed
On selves and others, through our human wiles.
And some may serve some purpose good, but some
Are part of all that poisons and defiles.

2024 April 11th, Thu.
Berkeley, California 

Bix-বিষ

বিষ

 

ধূসর আকাশ। বৃষ্টি পড়ে, এঁধো মেঘলা দিনে। 

শীত ফিরেছে। উঠি, বসি, পায়চারা দি ঘরে। 

মন দমেছে, মানুষ-জাতির নিষ্ঠুরতা চিনে। 

আলস বাড়ে। বৃদ্ধকালে, কাজ থেমেছে, ডরে।

 

সাহস গেছে, ভাটায় ভেসে। রয়েছে, ভারী, ভয়। 

তবুও আছে আশা মনে, তবুও দেহে জান। 

ভুলিনি তাই আদর্শ, প্রিয়, যুবকালের জয়। 

স্মৃতির সাথে, আজও বুকে রয়েছে মায়ার টান।

 

দূর সাগরের জলের ওপর, রোদের ঝিলিমিলি।

মন জুড়ালো, স্বপ্নে যেনো। তাও যে শঙ্কা! কিসের?

শিশুর, মায়ের কান্না শুনি। দূরে, বোমাবারি!

হত্যাকাণ্ড চলছে জোরে। ফসল, লোভের বিষের!

 

****** 

 

কোন্ চিকিৎসায় সারবে এ রোগ? বিষের অগদ কি?

জানলে পরে, জানিও আমায়। বুদ্ধি আমার কম।

কোন্ ওঝা-গণ মন্ত্র জানে? কেমন তাদের ফি?

কোন্ দেবতার কৃপায় ক্ষমা, রোষে যখন যম?

.

কোন্ সুযোগে মিলন, প্রিয়, কোন্ ঝুঁকিতে বিদায়? 

কি কারণে কষ্ট, প্রাণের, কি সু-কাজে খালাস? 

কেউ জানে না, তবুও বড়াই, ফালতু গুরুর, হায়! 

একের চামে, ফসফর-জ্বালা, অন্যের, মধুর বাতাস।

 

******

 

ঘোর আঁধারে, আলোর ঝিলিক। দিন-দুপুরে, নিশি। 

জ্ঞান হারিয়ে, মানুষ চলে, হিংস্র দানব-রূপে। 

কোন্ বণিকের থেকে কেনা, এমন বিষের শিশি? 

দিনে সাধু, রাতে খুনি। কু-কারোবার, চুপে।

 

শয়তান বসে সিংহাসনে। সবাইর মাথা নত।

এথায় আরাম, ওথায় ব্যারাম। মানুষ জ্ব’লে মরে।

তবুও চলে চোখ এড়িয়ে, দেশের নেতা যত।

বন্ধু বলে, ‘কাঁপছো কেনো, চলতি বিষের ডরে?’

 

কত দুঃখ-কষ্ট স’য়ে, রয়েছে কত প্রাণ। 

তার তুলনায়, তুচ্ছ আমার, যতই সাদা চুল। 

আসছে কালে, নীল আকাশের তলায় গাইবো গান। 

বসন্তের সেই হওয়ার চুমে, নাচবে রঙিন ফুল।

 

শুক্রবার, ৫ এপ্রিল, ২০২৪ খ্রি. 

বার্ক্লি, ক্যালিফোর্নিয়া

 

Be Open

 

Be Open

We’re driven not by reason but

By instincts and by feelings, yet

Our reason helps us on our way

And guards us from the snare and net.

And how can instincts, feelings work

When hearts have hardened or are dead,

And eyes and ears are closed to all

Except the comfort-views we're fed?

******

And how can caring, justice thrive

When hatred makes us deaf and blind,

Ignoring pleas, believing lies,

And shutting down the heart and mind?

Question, question what you know,

And turn away from comfort-news.

Resist the laziness of mind.

Be open, yes, to facts and views.

******

Beware the call, resist the urge

To demonize or deify—

To make supreme a god, a race,

A culture or to glorify

A nation or a class, or lift 

On high religion, custom, creed, 

A system of economy,

Or justify the wars of greed.

******

Do recognize what evil is.

Resist the call to turn to hate,

To cast the others down, despise,

Subdue, oppress, exterminate.

No god needs help from humans and

No creed needs other views suppressed,

Except the god or creed that fears

What might, by humans, be expressed.

******

We tend to worship those “above”

And spit upon the ones “below”.

Beware the virus that infects 

And leads to thoughts of “high” and “low”.

Beware of leaders! Be not led

Except by sanity of head

And purity of heart. Be open.

Live, until you're truly dead.

2024 March 14th, Thu.

Berkeley, California

Delight

  
Delight

Every season has its flavor,
Every time of day its own.
Each has been my friend and savior,
When I’ve wandered, all alone.

Though I’ve always been a loner,
Once with books but now with none,
When I’ve stepped outside a dwelling,
I have rarely felt I’m one.

Earth and sky have sent their greetings,
Trees and clouds and slanting sun.
I have watched their swifter changes
And their seasons, one by one. 

****** 

The world within us and the one
Around us pulse with rhythmic flows.
So the daily, monthly cycles.
So the year that comes and goes.

When, at dawn, the sun arises,
Hope awakens, gives us life.
When, at dusk, the night advances,
Souls retire from stress and strife.

So the seasons come and go—
Summer sun and winter snow—
The smile of spring, the mellow autumn—
Each in time within the flow. 

2023 November 2nd, Thu. 
Berkeley, California 

All is Naught--and Naught is All

I am not sure what this signifies, if anything. It came to me somehow and so I have written it down.

-----------------------------------------------------------------

All is Naught—and Naught is All
 
What cleaves the self from what it sees as other
And separates, in time, the child and mother?
What grace might free us from the trap we’re in
That makes the brother turn against the brother?
 
I asked these questions, turning towards that sky
That sees us being born and sees us die.
I asked these questions. All I got was naught—
No answer as to what—or how—or why.
 
And left with this, as all who ask might be,
I asked myself—and then began to see
What words or sight or thoughts cannot convey—
The naught that births the timeless, boundless sea.
 
******
 
I pondered this, perplexed, and wondered why
I’d sensed this not by grace of sea or sky,

But from within my bounded self—and why
I should not view it as an useless lie.
 
And so I sank within again and found
An emptiness devoid of light and sound
That yet was filled with all the blazing stars,
With silence bearing still a sense profound.
 
“Within the naught, there does reside the all—
And so the all is nothing but the naught.
And this, when realized in depth, would be
The sum and essence of the wisdom taught
By pointing towards what can’t be said or thought—
The door to sight beyond what eyes can see
Or ears can hear. The fog in which we’re caught,
When cleared, reveals the link of naught to all.”
 
2023 October 23, Mon.
Berkeley, California
 

Lies

 
Lies

The sword of truth is sheathed. The darts of lies
Are now replaced by missiles, bombs and drones.
The cannons and the guns of lies remain
And carry on their lethal fusillades.
The arrows left, of truth, cannot prevail.

So day is turned to night and wrong to right.
And most of us, accustomed to this state,
Find truth unbearable, rejecting it
With laughter or with anger mixed with scorn.
So truth lies buried. We are ruled by lies.

****** 

But what indeed is truth, we ask ourselves,
In things beyond our reach to verify?
And why these martial metaphors, in what 
Is surely where dispassion is required?
And yet, can we dispense with sentiment? 

We need the knowledge and the courage, yes,
And all the wit that we can draw upon.
But all of that, without the wisdom born
Of sight—including that of head and heart—
Will lead to choosing sides—of what is one. 

****** 

To choose a side is natural, it seems,
And seeing things in black and white provides 
A means to clear confusion and to act.
And yet the world has many shades of gray
And all the hues that brighten all our lives.

And so, reduction might be useful, while
Denuding all, deluding sight and sense.
We rarely can behold the truth in full,
And yet we always need to strive for this, 
Embracing pain to view the “other side”.
 
2023 October 15, Sun.
Berkeley, California