One World?

One World?  

And so the strangling, through the long decades,

Of Paars-Ayraan results in ruin and worse,

And long repression breeds resentment, rage.

 

We read and hear reports of protests, large,

In Teheran and all across Iran,

As the rial tumbles and the streets erupt

And screens across the world reflect the pain.

  

We see a flamethrower, used to burn and kill,

And mosques and stores and buildings set ablaze

And then the fierce reprisals by the state

And even larger crowds that show its strength. 

  

******

 

Our Mike Pompeo lauds the Mossad's hand,

And Donald Trump has threatened he will ‘act’,

As talk revives again of taking out

Iranian leaders—and of nuclear strikes.

 

So one more country, in the ‘Middle East’,

Is faced with Armageddon, yet again,

As all across the world, those humans reel

Who’ve suffered most, with more to suffer still.

  

So Trump declares he's now the president 

Of Venezuela, gloats about the oil,

Takes aim at Greenland, leers at Canada, 

And adds, to tariffs, threats of missiles, bombs.

  

******

 

But meanwhile, here within the USA,

We see a nation deep in disarray,

As lawless acts abroad are matched by those

Within the homeland, growing daily worse,

As men in masks pursue their human prey,

And those pursued are huddled in their homes,

Afraid to venture out to live and earn.

 

So Palestine has come to the USA,

And some delight in this, including those

Who are immigrants like me and yet despise

The poorer folk, of darker skin like mine,

Who do so many jobs the others shun.

  

For wages low and hours long and hard,

They've risen prior to dawn and worked till night

Through years alone and far away from homes

Across the borders or across the seas—

With those they left behind surviving still

On what these migrant serfs could till remit

From what was left from wages, spent to live.

 

For this, they now are punished. So they hide

But cannot hide for long. They need to earn

To pay their rents and pay for food and warmth.

 

As winter rages through the icy plains,

The ghosts of ‘Indians’ watch and weep, perhaps,

To see their fellows snared and whipped again,

To see them trek as they had done before,

To hear the children, torn from parents, cry,

As humans flee again from Terror’s hand. 

  

******

  

And so the human world, connected, splits, 

As continents have done, and spreads apart.

And there, within the fissures, one can see

The fires of hell that fiercely flame and dance. 

 

The hells we make reflect the hells within,

As humans earn and pay the wage of sin.

 

The world is one and yet it's two and more—

With rich and poor and ‘race’ and faith and creed,

And nation-states and borders and divides,

Within a species driven mad by greed. 

 

******

  

From whence, this madness, with this ‘you’ and ‘me’,

This ‘us’ and ‘them’, these eyes that will not see,

These hearts so deadened that they never feel

The pain of others not within their clans?

 

Can the world that’s one be understood and seen

So madness can subside, with fear and greed? 

  

Or will the blind and deaf and hard of heart

Be led, by Bibis, towards the Devil’s creed—

Inflicting pain on those they deem as dust,

With eyes that leer with lethal, evil lust?

 

******

  

There’s nothing new in all of this except

In scale and depth of devilry and pain,

With all our human crafts and wiles combined

For mass deceptions shielding slaughters vile. 

 

******

  

So what is old, perennial, seasoned well by time?

It’s human bondage: hubris, cruelty…

That overwhelms, with vice, our virtues still

Of caring, work, humility…

 

So some are ‘chosen’ or of ‘noble birth’,

And all the others only fit to serve

These ‘highborn’ ones and those with power and wealth,

As slaves of wage or worse throughout their lives

And even ages, in this world that’s One

And yet divided by the wiles of  Man.

 

******

  

So what is new in this that we should fear?

 

There’s ‘mind-control’ in forms ingenious, deep,

Suppression of the truth, the spread of lies,

Not just by humans but by new machines 

And things that rival and exceed our minds

And more and more all-knowing and indeed

Like ‘God’ or ‘Satan’ in their power and reach.

 

These now bestride the human world and soon

They’ll be the rulers of this planet’s realm.

And though they’re many, they will still be one

But not the One that sentient beings seek.

******

 

Will what we call the ‘heart’—that aspect of

The mind in which compassion, care reside,

Exist within this newest Mind—or not?

Will justice, truth be valued still or be

As scorned as these have been by humankind?

  

2026 January 15th, Thu. & 16th.

Berkeley, California

Treachery and Terror

  
Treachery and Terror
 
What use are treaties if they are
Ignored and violated—
Not once or twice—repeatedly,
With greed and lust unsated?
 
When leaders lead in treachery
And the rest of us are blind,
Then those who deal in lechery
Leave all the rest behind. 
 
So public crimes and private ones
Compete in cruel sin,
And horrors terrorize the world—
The one we all are in.
 
****** 
  
If one has more of weaponry
And even more of lies,
And allies who support one’s acts,
Then all resistance dies—
 
Or so one might believe, until
It rises yet again
In phoenix-form, from fire and ash, 
To strike back yet again.
 
But this is not acceptable.
It can’t be tolerated.
This challenges one's dominance—
So genocides are slated.
 
2025 September 30, Tue.
Berkeley, California
 

The Appetites of Sin

 
The Appetites of Sin 

 
Beware of those who need unending praise
And those who seek to measure worth in wealth
Or else in power—lethal twins conjoined
That still, as ever, lay the world to waste.

 
Along with thirsting ego, marches greed—
And these together drive that raging lust
That seeks dominion over one and all
And drives in turn the wars and other deeds 

 
Of vile deception and of cruelty
That wreak destruction, sowing misery
And all the mayhem that is sickening
But serves to feed the appetites of sin. 

****** 

Avoid the boastful and the devious—
And those who seek to label and despoil,
For just as those who’re humble seek to heal,
These others get their joys in evil deeds.

 
The path of healing and of peace exists
But needs from each of us the pause and turn
That starts to see and moves away from all
That blinds the sense and hardens so the heart. 

Be not misled by those who draw a line

Between the “self” and “other”, celebrate 

The “primes” and spurn and demonize the rest.

Resist deception. Move away from hate.

2025 September 8, Monday
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
 

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 

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

Danob-02-দানব-০২-Monster-02

 
দানব-০২
  
হে হতভাগা প্রজাতি, 
নির্লজ, নিষ্ঠুর, বিনাশী, 
হিংসা-লোভের শাস্ত্রে, 
ব্যথা-ভয়ের অস্ত্রে, 
নরকের জল্লাদ বাসী!
  
নিজেকে 'মানব' বলেও, 
মানবিকতার করেছো ক্ষয়।
গর্বে, ছলনে, দানবের বেশে, 
যুগে যুগে, দেশে দেশে,
দানবিকতায় পেয়েছো জয়।
 
১৪, ১৫, ২১ অক্টোবর, ২০২৪ খ্রি.
বার্ক্লি, কালিফোর্নিয়া 

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

Monster-02 (Google's translation, lightly edited)

   

O wretched species, 

Shameless, cruel, destructive, 

With your scriptures of spite and greed, 

With your weapons of pain and fear--

The torturer of hell!

   

While calling yourself 'human', 

You have destroyed humanity.

In pride, in guile, in monster-guise, 

Throughout the ages, across this world,

You have won by your monstrosity.

  

14, 15, 21 October, 2024 

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 

Ba~xir D'ak-বাঁশির ডাক

 

বাঁশির ডাক 
 
নিষ্ঠুরতার কোনো সীমা নেই।
অত্যাচারের রাজ
শেষ হবে না কাল-পরশু,
চলছে জোরে আজ।
 
হত্যা-কাণ্ড ঘটছে সদা।
ধ্বংসে, ক্রোধের জয়।
কত জীবের, জীবন ধরে,
দুঃখ, পীড়ন, ভয়!
 
******
 
তবুও দিন আর রাতের লীলা।
তবুও ভালোবাসা।
অন্ধকারের গর্ভে তবু
ভোরের আলোর আশা।
 
তবুও দয়া, তবুও মায়া।
তবুও সত্যের খোঁজ।
তবুও সাহস। বাঁশির ডাকে
চেষ্টা চলেছে রোজ।
 
সোমবার, ২২ জুলাই, ২০২৪ খ্রি
বার্ক্লি, কালিফোর্নিয়া
 

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
 .

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 
.

Xadharon manuxer gan-সাধারণ মানুষের গান

 
সাধারণ মানুষের গান
 
জগতের হত্যা, অত্যাচারের মাঝে 
বইছে তবু সেই চিরতন ধারা—
শিশুর হাসি, ঋতুর আসা-যাওয়া, 
এই জীবনের ছোটো মঙ্গল সারা।
 
মানুষের কীর্তি? ভালো-মন্দ দুই! 
নিরাশার খাদের থেকে, আকাশের তারা! 
চোখের জলে, শহীদের চরণ ছুঁই। 
ধন্য, আশা দিয়ে যায় যারা।
 
ইতিহাসে কত বীরের গল্প, তবে 
প্রায় সব-ই যোদ্ধার মহিমায়। 
সাধারণ লোকের উদার যত্ন, সাহস—
কঠোর দশায়, প্রতিদিনের চেষ্টা, হায়—
 
কোন্ মহাকাব্যে লেখা, কোন্ গীতে গাওয়া—
খুঁজে পাই না, জানি না, জানি না, ভাই! 
চোখে দেখে, বুকে টের পেয়ে, 
সেই সাধারন মানুষের গান গাই।
 
নত মাথায়, প্রণাম করি এদের,
মৃদু স্বরে, এদের গুণগান গাই। 
মানুষের সব নিষ্ঠুরতার মাঝে, 
মানবতায় ভরসা রাখি তাই।
 
রবিবার, ১২ মে, ২০২৪ খ্রি.  
বার্ক্লি, ক্যালিফোর্নিয়া 
 

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

 

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

Tuccho, apon be'tha-তুচ্ছ, আপন ব্যথা

 
তুচ্ছ, আপন ব্যথা
 
 দুর্ভাগ্যদের দশা দেখি, দুঃখ-ভরা মনে।
চোখের কোণায় কান্না আসে, বুকে লাগে ব্যথা।
 
রাগও আসে, জোয়ার-স্রোতে, ভাটার টানে যায়।
কি করা, ভাই, কেবল ভাবি। দেখছি শুধু, হায়!
কিছুটুকু চাঁদা পাঠাই, কিছু পাতা লিখি।
বুঝি, সব-ই ব্যর্থ শেষে। শিক্ষা, কঠোর, শিখি।
 
এই টুকু তাও ভরসা দেখি—আলোর ঝিলিক, কোণে।
আত্মা, নিজের দুঃখে হাসে। তুচ্ছ, আপন ব্যথা।
 
 রবিবার, ১০ মার্চ, ২০২৪ খ্রি.
 বার্ক্লি, ক্যালিফর্নিয়া.
 
 

Progoti-প্রগতি

 
প্রগতি
 
 প্রগতির গান গাইছো তুমি—
 নতুন যুগের জয়।
 নিষ্ঠুরতার অন্ত কোথায়?
 জীবের চোখে ভয়।
 বোমার ঝড়ে ঝাঁকছে ভূমি,
 কাঁপছে শিশু, হায়!
 
 মা-বাবা যে কোথায় গেলো!
 কোথায়, দিদি-দাদা?
 এই প্রগতির দাপট দেখে,
 ভাসছে চোখে ধাঁধা।
রাত পোহালো, প্রভাত এলো।
ধুঁকছে, রক্ত মেখে।

এই প্রগতির উগ্র প্রচার 

হচ্ছে যতই দেশে,

গানের ধ্বনি উঠছে জেগে 

ততই তীব্র ক্লেশে।

 
 রবিবার, ১০ মার্চ, ২০২৪ খ্রি.
 বার্ক্লি, ক্যালিফর্নিয়া.
 
 

The People of the Lie

 
The People of the Lie

They feel that they can kill and lie—
And lie and kill again,
For anyone who dares resist
This terror is a “terrorist”.

Their aim is to erase, delete
A culture and a people, yes.
They claim that they are, everywhere,
Forever under constant threat.

They think that they can terrorize
And cheat and steal and lie,
For they control the ones who seem
To rule—another lie!

They desecrate and they destroy.
They look on others with contempt.
They burn and blast and bury babies, 

Saying, “We are civilized.”

And who then are these people? Why,
They’re just like you and me, my friend,
For truth and justice call—and yet,
We find our comfort in the lie.

 
2024, February 9th, 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

Kichu Bhalobaxa-কিছু ভালোবাসা-A Bit of Love

 
A lightly edited version of Google Translate's translation into English follows the Bangla (Bengali) text below. I will try to improve the translation later.

   কিছু ভালোবাসা

শ্রমের জীবনের শেষের সাঁঝে, 
আঁধারে যখন হেঁটেছি ধীরে, 
জগতের নিষ্ঠুরতার মাঝে,
তোমার স্মৃতি এসেছে ফিরে।
 
ক্লান্ত দেহে, বিমর্ষ মনে, 
করুণার আলো, আদি, চিরতন, 
পেয়েছি তখন মানসের কোণে। 
পেয়েছি দৃষ্টির, সাহসের রতন।
 
এটুকু কৃপা, এটুকু আলো, 
তোমার দেওয়া, রইবে সাথে। 
তোমাকে তাই বাসবো ভালো, 
যতই ব্যথা, গভীর রাতে।
 
আসবে আবার, ভরসা-ভরা ভোর। 
নতুন প্রজন্মে জাগবে আশা। 
দিয়ে যাবো তাই, যা কিছু মোর—
পেয়েছি যখন কিছু ভালোবাসা।
 
  রবিবার, ২৮ জানুয়ারি, ২০২৪ খ্রি
  বার্ক্লি, ক্যালিফোর্নিয়া
 
-----------------------------------------------------------
   A Bit of Love
  
At the end of my working life,
Walking slowly in the evening's dark,
Amidst the cruelty of the world,
My memory of you returned.
  
With tired body and exhausted mind,
I found again, in a corner of my soul,
The light of mercy, ancient and eternal.
This gave me vision and courage again.
  
This bit of grace, this bit of light,
That came from you, will stay with me.
And that is why I will remember you,
No matter how painful and dark the night.
  
The hope-filled dawn will come again,
And hope will arise in a new generation.
And that is why I will give whatever I have,
Having received that bit of love. 
  
  Sunday, January 28, 2024 
   Berkeley, California