The Gems Within Your Eyes

The Gems Within Your Eyes

In your eyes, I saw the diamond—
in your eyes, I saw the pearl,
the amethyst, the emerald—
that said you were my girl.

And red might be the ruby,
and blue the sapphire’s fire,
but all their colors faded
beside my deep desire.

In your eyes I saw my Venus—
my dream of Aphrodite.
I only saw your eyes then,
though you were in your nightie.

Although we might have quarreled
when the stars had brought us close,
when they chose to separate us,
I could see beyond my nose.

And I could see your eyes then,
that twinkled from afar,
as I’d seen them flash and sparkle,
when you briefly were my star.

2017 March 18th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York

  

Exile-III

 
Exile—III
  
I have tasted of your juices,
I have savored of your scents.
So your scents are in my nostrils,
And your tastes upon my tongue.

I have breathed in. Inhalation
Has carried you within me.
I have breathed out. Exhalation
Has given you my love.

It is said that we are mindful
Of the things that are at hand.
But with distance, there's a longing
That the lovers understand.
    
******
  
I have lusted for your textures,
I have yearned for all your sights.
I have dreamed of you in daytime,
I have tossed for you at nights.
  
Has my love been unrequited?
That only you can know.
I have felt your heartbeat quicken,
I have seen your motions slow.
     
Your were near and yet were distant.
You are far and yet are near.
And your absence is a presence
That is hard for me to bear.
       
When I left you for another,
Did you notice, did you cry?
Did you ask then for a reason?
Did you ever wonder why?
     
No, you didn't even notice,
For you'd hardly notice me,
Who was one of many millions
That by chance had come to be.
  
But you gave me life and fed me,
And I grew beneath your sky.
And I never really left you,
Though it seems that now I lie.
     
For you are my native country,
You're the land of all my dreams.
Though I seem to be so distant,
It isn't what it seems.
       
You are with me still in music.
I can hear you in my voice.
In my exile, you are in me.
So I dream, and I rejoice.
     
*******
      
As a tree, that is uprooted
And is planted in a soil
That is foreign, may not flourish,
So the worker and his toil.
    
As a mite upon your body,
As a mote upon your skin,
I was one you'd hardly notice,
But I've borne you in my soul.
       
As the years have stretched to many,
And the memories start to fade,
I can delve within and find you,
So I once again am whole.
     
2016 January 23rd, Sat.10:25 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
--------------------------------------------
  
For a more rational view of this, see the short piece:  Exile--II  
http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/04/exile-ii.html
 
For a rather wistful, resigned reflection on this, see: Exile
http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2013/03/exile.html  
   

আবার তোমারে পাওয়া – abar tomare paoa

  
আবার তোমারে পাওয়া 


আঁধারে আলোয় দেখেছি তোমারে,
নিমেষে হয়েছ হাওয়া।
ডেকেছি, খুঁজেছি, কত যে চেয়েছি
আবার তোমারে পাওয়া।
  
কোথায় রয়েছ, জানি না, জানি না...
আকাশে উঠিয়ে হাত,
কেঁদেছি দিবসে, এসেছে জবাবে
লক্ষ তারার রাত...
 
স্বপ্নে ভেবেছি, দেখেছি তোমারে,
বুঝেছি, ভোরে উঠে, ভুল...
বাইরে বেরিয়ে, শীতল সকালে,
দেখেছি ফুটেছে ফুল...
 
নদির তীরে হেঁটেছি বিকেলে,
জলেতে দেখেছি তোমায়।
ডেকেছি, কেঁদেছি – মিলন তুমি
দেবে কি এবারে আমায়?

পাত্তা দেওনি কখনো, যদিও
হয়েছি ডেকে ডেকে হয়রান...
তাই ত ভেতরে,ধাপে ধাপে,
মরেছে আশা, নিবেছে প্রান।

আঁধারে আলোয় দেখেছি তোমারে,
নিমেষে হয়েছ হাওয়া।
ডেকেছি, খুঁজেছি, কত যে চেয়েছি
আবার তোমারে পাওয়া।
  
সোমবার, ১৫-ই ডিসেম্বর, ২০১৪ খৃ
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউ য়র্ক
   
-------------------------------------------------
Abar Tomare Paoa

A~dhare aloe dekhechi tomare,
nimexe hoecho haoa.
D’ekechi, khu~jechi, ko`to je ce-echi
abar tomare paoa.

Kothae roecho, jani na, jani na…
Akaxe ut’hie hat,
k~edichi dibo`xe, exeche jo`babe
lokkho-tararo rat…

Xo`pne bhebechi, dehkechi tomare.
bhujhechi, bhore ut’he, bhul…
Baire berie, xito`lo xo`kale,
dekhechi phut’eche phul…

Nodir tire he~t’echi bikele,
jo`lete dekhechi tomae.
D’ekechi, ke~dechi, “Milo`n tumi
debe ki ebare amae?”

Patta de`o ni, ko`khono, jodio
hoechi d’eke d’eke ho`eran…
Tai to bhetore, dhape dhape,
moreche axa, nibeche pran…

A~dhare aloe dekhechi tomare,
nimexe hoecho haoa.
D’ekechi, khu~jechi, ko`to je ce-echi
abar tomare paoa.

Xombar, 15-oi D’isembo`r, 2014 khri.
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk
  

A Woman, Young -- Part II

A Woman, Young -- Part II

A memory remains
of California sun
and that brief incident,
that crossing of the paths
between that woman and
myself --
the ones we were
that morning,
long ago.

Unaccustomed as I was, to women, young,
who'd follow me and offer me a ride --
and insist on it, a stranger though I was ---
I did not know then what to do
except to walk away ---
perhaps especially as she
was beautiful,
attractive and vivacious,
and, at least with me, that day,
flirtatious in a friendly sort of way,
with a sunny innocence that lit her eyes
and a smile that played, like sunshine, on her face.

I did not know then how I should react.
And so, I stumbled and I walked away.

It might have been for the best.

I wonder, still,
how it just might have been
if only I were not
the solemn one that I
felt bound to be
that sunlit day.

I wonder too, just who she was,
that woman, young,
whose form had been revealed to me,
in wondrous nudity,
in morning's light --
that woman who
had followed me --
perhaps because our eyes had met
and she had sensed, as I had done,
a history, unreachable --
a musk
without a name --
and perhaps
a destiny
that turned out
not to be...

I wonder who she was,
that woman, young,
whom I remembered suddenly
this evening, thirty years
and very far away --
I wonder who she was --
and is --
that woman, now perhaps
no longer young...

I did not ask her name,
nor offer mine,
and nor did she,
despite her friendliness...

I wish her well,
and I also wish that I could say,
"I'm sorry that I was
a dolt that day."

2013  October 31, Thu.
Brooklyn
  
A Woman, Young -- Part I 

http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-woman-young.html 
 

A Woman, Young -- Part I

      
A Woman, Young -- Part I
  
It was morning -- 10 o'clock or earlier.  I hadn't slept.
But I was young, and though I'd lectured for an hour or more,
I still had energy to spare.

I was walking out of the building where I'd lectured, when
I saw a woman, young, who stood where light was streaming in.
Her gauzy dress was billowing in the breeze,
and I could see her form, as if she wasn't wearing clothes
at all.

On exiting the building's door, I met that woman's gaze,
for just an instant.  Walking, then, across the sunlit yard,
I heard, behind me, footsteps, fast -- and found her by my side.

She greeted me.  I turned and answered, being just polite.
She was quite beautiful.  

A word or two of casual talk, and then -- she offered me
a ride.  I said, "I live nearby.  I usually just walk."

But she insisted.  So I sat, and as she drove, she asked,
"So what's your major?"  I answered, "Physics."
"Why do you have that book, then?" she inquired,
and gestured at the thing that sat upon my lap --
a book on mathematics, meant for freshmen
who weren't majoring in engineering, sciences
or math -- and needed a refresher course.

But we were at the buildings meant for faculty,
where I was rooming with a friend who taught.

"I'm saved!" I thought.  Some part of me
was just unwilling to acknowledge that
I now no longer could romance a girl
who might just be an undergrad, while I
had finished with my post-doc there at UCI,
and now had given my last lecture there in math,
and would be leaving soon for someplace far away.

I said, "We'll talk about that later, over coffee."

"But where -- and when?" she asked.

"I'm sure we'll meet each other once again.",
I said -- and saying this,
I waved and walked away.

I'd almost reached my building when I heard her car
-- and saw it curve and glide away.

I never saw that woman, young, again.

2013  October 31, Thu.
Brooklyn 
 

The Puzzle

The Puzzle

She asked him why he left her, but he never did reply.
So she was left to figure out the real reason why.
And though the years have come and gone, that puzzle still remains,
That never will be solved by her, whose time has come to die.

How many years, how many years, of asking for the reason...
How many tears, how many tears, on day and month of season,
The day and month on which he left, as autumn then was ending...
And still she pays, as ending nears, the price for lover's treason....

How lightly men may leave the maidens whom they courted, won...
How sadly ends the dalliance so happily begun...
How deep the wound that rarely heals, though time attempts its cure,
How strange that some have hearts with space for one -- and only one.

How many pitfalls life may lay upon a mortal's way,
How many traps that snare the one who stops from saying, "Nay."
How many mothers warn their girls, who yet succumb to love,
How many men, who leave the maid, with whom they've had their way...

When she was young, she tried, in vain, to youthful heart defend.
Now death approaches and she nears her tortuous journey's end.
We wonder if she'll ever have a chance to live again,
And in that life, for errors past, another will amend.

2013 September 18th, Wed.
Brooklyn
 

Alien-II

Alien-II
                                                                  
The storm has scattered us across the seas,
And some have found a cove in which to live,
And others struggle daily with the tides.
Survival leaves but little room for thought.

We dwell within our shells in loneliness
And hear the ocean pounding on the rocks.
For when we pause awhile from daily toil,
We sense in full the maelstrom all around.

And each retains a trace of memory
And so desires to be again as one,
But often only dimly sees the cause
Of feeling incomplete and alien.

2013 August 29th, Thu. 2:50 am
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn
  

With Gentle Feet

     
With Gentle Feet
                    
There are so many things that a man can do.
And a woman can do some more.
But when we have done these things, we see
We're still as we were before.

So the one, who thinks she'll do this and that
And so become another –
To her, I say, if that's your end,
It isn't worth the bother.

******
 
So do whatever you desire
Or what you have to do,
And savor thus your duty, pleasure,
While still remaining you.

For your body and your spirit are
As waves upon the sea,
And let's observe that wavelet, that
As cloud aspires to be.

It might forsake the ocean vast
And wash upon the land,
Or warmed by sun, as vapor rise –
And yet not understand.

For even if it rises high
Above the rolling plain,
Its nature is of water and,
As water, will remain.

And though it fall as snow upon
The lofty mountain peaks,
In time enough it will return,
As water, level seeks...

And though the sights that we may see
While mounting on ambition,
May serve to feed the dreams of age,
They will not give us vision.

For vision that is not of eyes
Alone is what is needed,
And when the heart is riven, then
Its vision isn't heeded.

And when ambition blinds our soul
Or we reject our parts,
Then all around us, shattered, lie
The bodies, minds and hearts...

So let the ones, who're driven, rise.
Observe them rise and fall.
Go carefully, with gentle feet,
With love for one and all.

******
 
There are so many things that a man can do.
And a woman can do some more.
But when we have done these things, we see
We're still as we were before.

So the one, who thinks he'll do this and that
And so become another –
To him, I say, if that's your end,
It isn't worth the bother.

2013 July 28th, Sun.
Brooklyn
  

Meetings

  
Meetings
  
Where shall we meet in the gloaming,
When shall I see you again?
There's so little of time remaining –
And yet it is time yet again...

******

Shall we meet by chance on a country road,
As the end of the day is coming?
And shall we dally there awhile,
With the crickets loudly humming?

Or shall I find you by a lake,
On another day, at evenfall?
And shall we linger by the shore,
As the frogs and the birds returning call?

Or shall we meet  in a wooded glen,
At the sunset hour, in another season?
And shall we stand there, in the dusk,
And wonder then if there's a reason?

Shall we cross upon the field,
At twilight, in another year?
Will you know that it is me,
And will I know that you are near?

******

We met and walked together awhile,
And then, in time, we parted.
But still, I think of you and smile,
Who far too soon departed...

I always feel that we'll meet again,
But then again we'll part.
And so it's always the end of the day,
When I sense that you are there.

But if I smile as the sun goes down,
Will I weep in the light of the dawning,
As I see you walking on the dew-wet grass,
And I know that you're gone forever?

How sad is the gloom of the evening,
How glad is the sun of the morn...
And yet, when I think of your passing,
I smile as I weep that you're gone.

******

Where shall we meet in the gloaming,
When shall I see you again?
There's so little of time remaining –
And yet it is time yet again...

2013 July 27th, Sat.
Brooklyn   
   

Remembering / Infidelities

Remembering / Infidelities
  
The pigeons, having courted, hatched their eggs,
Are busy feeding their insistent young,
And so are little birds that dart from trees,
Whose limbs are now with verdant vestments hung.

But beasts are blessed and cursed with memory –
And they can see the future too at times.
And so, while still in summer's hot embrace,
I lie with other seasons in my rhymes...

While walking underneath a brilliant sun,
As summer spreads its spell of warmth and light,
I still remember well the spring, the fall,
The winter's cold – the dark of longest night...

******

For summer's end, by orbit is ordained,
As every day the sun goes slowly south.
And this is known to birds as well as men –
With winter's breath on twig in sparrow's mouth...

The seasons dance in circles 'round and 'round,
And each has qualities that are its own.
In winter, I will walk this street again,
Remembering the summers I have known...

******
 
It's said that men are polygamous, while
The women are a monogamous lot.
I doubt that this is true, but then I smile,
Remembering I've stirred proverbial pot...

For though I have been faithful to my spouse,
As much, perhaps, by circumstance as will,
I still have lain in every season's bed,
And striven, there, to comic roles fulfill.

And since I then retained those memories,
I once recited verses in my sleep.
And those, who heard, then looked at me in doubt,
As all my secrets they could share – or keep.

2013 July 14th, 5:30 pm–6:30 pm
(walking on Bath & Benson Avenues
between 18th & 19th Avenues – and 
seated at the Guatemalan diner at 
the corner of Benson & 18th)
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn
  

Her Secret Vice

  
Her Secret Vice
  
“What's your hobby?” asked her friend.
“You heard me. Speak, and don't pretend.
I told you mine was postage stamps,
A pastime I acquired from gramps.
But you have never told me. Speak.
I've asked you several times this week.”

She could not speak, for quite a while.
But then, she tried to force a smile.
“Your game is up.” She told herself.
“It can't be kept to just yourself,
This thing you do, your secret shame.
Perhaps she'll understand, not blame.”

And thinking of her secret pleasure,
She found her courage, in some measure.
She'd bowed her head – and looking low,
Had studied well, companion's toe.
But now she tried to meet her eye.
“It's mathematics, on the sly.”

She'd murmured, what she could not shout.
At last!  Her secret now was out.
But searching in the hearer's face,
She saw the worst – a maid's disgrace.
And flustered, she looked down again,
While feeling, in her heart, that pain...

She'd hoped her friend could take, what men
Could not divine – or ever ken.
And so, she'd spilled her secret vice.
But see, her friend had turned to ice.
She saw her look of shock and horror,
And so was filled with sudden terror.

She wondered if she might be blamed
For feeling frightened and ashamed.
She wondered how to fix, what she
Had done – or how and where to flee.
She even wondered, if her life
She now should end, with pill or knife...

“But no,” she thought, “that's foolishness!
Let others think their nastiness.
For if my hobby gives me joy,
Why should I not, this gift, enjoy?
Was I not made by the Creator
To be, like Her, a calculator?”

And saying this, to soothe her pain,
She thought of pleasures past again.
The calculus was exquisite
For those, with skills prerequisite.
But even novices find joys
In playing with their basic toys...

And for the ones, who're more advanced
And have, in rings, with tensors danced,
Or played with algebras of Lie,
They know, what glory this can be.
What joys compare, upon this Earth,
With proofs – or giving theorems birth?

And so, with bashful, downcast eye,
She took her pleasures on the sly,
Remembering her sessions past,
In fields, with groups, that seemed to last
Beyond what humans could endure
And yet emerge, in essence, pure...

But glancing at her shell-shocked friend,
She knew her respite had to end.
But how, alas, she could explain
What she had done, escaping pain,
She did not know. But should she try,
Or wait till other asked her, “Why?”

2013 July 8th, Sun.
Brooklyn

Mountains

Mountains

I shall walk towards the mountains,
I shall climber past the vines,
I shall tread upon the needles,
As I climb by scented pines...

I shall mount, where lichens linger,
As the mists are speeding through.
I shall leave the clouds beneath me
And I'll see the dappled view...

I shall see the verdant valley
With its silver, winding thread.
I shall see, by golden terrace,
The rhododendron red.

I shall see the light and shadow
As they race across the hills,
I shall hear the peasant calling
To his oxen as he tills...

I shall drink of green and golden,
I shall sip of distant blue.
I shall watch, with clouds dispersing,
Olympus rise in view...

I shall view the peaks that glisten,
Reflecting dazzling sun...
I shall have my glimpse of heaven,
By dint of climbing, won...

2013 June 28th, Fri.
Brooklyn