The Scattered Greens

 
The Scattered Greens

Within the cities, with their asphalt roads
And concrete sidewalks, hard on aging feet,
With neither giving sustenance to souls, 
I've sought my solace in the scattered greens.

And sitting there, upon a precious bench, 
I've breathed the less-polluted air—with scents 
Of Nature mixed with vents from vehicles.

And in those places, at those times, it seemed
The city's clamor paused, for just a while,
Or somehow let the mind transform its din—
As all the madness, with its press and rush
Receded, so one savored peace at last.

In time, the sounds of passing cars were changed
To those of waves upon a pleasant shore, 
And drones of airplanes high above became 
The muted roars of distant wind and surf—
As if one heard again the breath of Earth.

******

And so today, on an autumn afternoon, 
Afar from home—and yet at home again— 
I've found a bench and occupied a seat—
As slanting golden sun delights a pine
And youths with trailing shadows dance within 
A court—that’s  painted blue and white and green,
Reminding one of sky and earth serene—
To take their turns at arcing spheres at hoops.

Towards the west, the sunlight silhouettes
A group of women, moving with their dogs. 
And from behind them, I can hear the cries 
Of children playing in the autumn sun. 

A time to pause, to just relax and be—
With all the greens of plants, the blues of sky,
With dogs and humans, prancing in the sun—
Or simply soaking in the wash of light.

A time to find—or glimpse again—that me 
That I had lost among the cities’ streets—
And now appears to look at me and smile.

****** 

I know, as sunset yields to dusk and then—
With streetlights coming on like stars and just
That fading glow that tinges western skies,
The humans here will melt away and I
Will hear the crickets start their choruses.

And so the cycles of the days persist
Within the cities—in their remnant greens.
And this has been a source of peace to me—
And surely others, sailing urban seas.   

2023, October 4th, Wednesday.
Ohlone Park, near Hearst & McGee
Berkeley, California

Karma – Part II

   
Karma – Part II
   
If only we were free to live the life
that’s there to live, without the stress and strife
unneeded, wrought by humans wanting more,
we’d live in grace – and still in grace, we’d go.
  
From thought arises word, from thought comes deed.
Be mindful then, of stuff on which you feed.
There’s no accountant up there, keeping score,
but every action leads to actions more.

And actions, words, in turn, engender thoughts –
and so the spirals, built of endless naughts,
proceed.  So blessing and damnation flow,
as eons, lives and seasons come and go.
    
Our thoughts and words and actions make a nest
or make a snare, in which we’re caught or rest.
And when, around us, ignorance accrued
has built a prison, then we’re truly screwed…
   
There lived a trader once in Brooklyn, who
of much that’s done, around the planet, knew
to raise the shares – and work the fields of woe,
and yet, he daily took the train, to hoe.
   
But when, one day, he saw the plume that rose
from Mammon’s isle, to which the tribute flows,
he murmured, thinking back to profits’ boost,
“Alas, the birds are coming home to roost.”
   
“Alas – and yet, at last.” he stood and said,
As karma did its work of darkness dread.
He then resolved to leave his woeful toil
and sow instead the light, in blighted soil.
   
And so, he turned to teaching children then
and found in this, awhile, a bit of zen,
until he saw that there was nowhere left
that wasn’t, of what’s sacred, quite bereft.
   
He could not raise his hands to a god and cry,
“Not even here!  Oh tell me – why, oh why?”
He thought of all that he had come to know –
and then decided it was time to go.
   
He walked that evening to the river wide
and stood in darkness by the current’s side.
He almost dove, but then he heard a voice.
“There's kindness still.  Remember – and rejoice.”
   
2014 November 22nd, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
  
Karma--Part I
  
For a prose preface to Karma--Part II, please see Thanksgiving Thoughts -- On Turkeys, Teachers, Soldiers and Conscience.
   

The Graceful Dead

  
The Graceful Dead
 
While walking up a road today, that still was lined with green,
I saw a tree, for which the fall had come, that stood serene.
It soared, aflame, it seemed, against the clouded autumn sky,
In glory, clad in leaves – that one by one would fall and die.
 
And now, I take in hand my pen, recalling, as I scribe,
How many were the colors, which I scarcely can describe –
The fading greens, the yellows, pinks, the many shades of red –
The colors of those aging leaves, which soon would all be dead…
 
And when I walked below that tree, I saw the fallen leaves
On sidewalk, street – and curbside, deep in multicolored sheaves.
How graceful were those fallen leaves – in aging and in death…
If only we could age as well – to be, by angels, met…
 
The world is full of cruelty.  If men would disappear,
It still would be a cruel world, beset by lust and fear.
And yet, this world has beauty, grace.  How wondrous was this tree
That stood alone, ablaze – and yet – in grace – and living free.
 
2014 October 18th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
   

A Song of Innocence

  
A Song of Innocence
 
While walking in the countryside, I heard a soft refrain.
I walked towards the source of it and then discerned the words.
I stood and listened to the song – a song of innocence.
And as I listened, with my heart, I felt a burden lift.
For in this world, where all seemed dark, I saw there still was light.
I listened till the song had end.  And then I walked away.
I wondered who the singer was.  I wonder still today.
 
2014 September 19th, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Loneliness

  
Loneliness

Loneliness, oh loneliness, you spawn of isolation,
How many find you empty, bleak, a field of desolation…
   
And few can last for long without some company of sorts,
At very least, the sky above, with all its changing shows,
Or for the ones, who’re blind, the sound of water, wind and life,
The scents and textures of the world, the tastes upon the tongue…
 
Yet some must live within the walls, confined to just a room
That shelters from the elements but also is a prison.

In the city, bustling, full of busy-ness and strife,
Amidst the hustle and the rush, you’ll find the unemployed,
And only they can fully feel the madness of the city,
Where strangers pass without a word, and even in an office,
A working lifetime well may pass with just a “Hi, hello.”

“Goodbye!” we say, in such a way, it’s robbed of all its meaning. \1
Yet only God, for those of faith, is with them as they leave.

Loneliness, oh loneliness, your beauty may be hidden,
But those who look will see it, when that looking is unbidden.
We’re born and live and die alone, amidst the company,
And so to loneliness alone we’re wedded, till the end.

2014 July 23rd, Wed,
Brooklyn, New York
  
1. "God be with you.",  "Allah/bhagwaan tere saath rahe."
    "Khuda hafiz.", etc. were meant to convey a deep emotion.
    The urban "goodbye", is increasingly used, instead, as a 
     dismissal.