I, Coward

 
I, Coward
 
From seeing what addictions do to men
And women, I had stayed away
From many things that draw us humans in—
But now I peck and stare at bright-lit screens.
 
******
 
I'm caught within a world I did not make,
Except at times by following the trend—
I thing that I'd resisted all my life,
Despite the lures of “going with the flow”.
 
I've held to my convictions and my code,
Not making prime the interest in self
And self-advancement that has long prevailed—
And this had helped me in my course of life.
 
I'd viewed the world, it seemed, with clarity,
And so made choices based on “what was right”—
Although I knew the limits to my sight—
Or learned of it, with due humility.
 
To “swim against the tide” is hard enough—
But even harder when there's turbulence.
Exhaustion and confusion drain one's strength.
I once was brave but now am filled with dread—
 
******
 
For when the conflicts in my inner self
Began, as duties clear became opposed,
I could no longer act with a conscience clear
And bear the consequence as I had done.
 
So those decisions, that involved a choice
Of leaving either one or other kin,
I could not make—and so was paralyzed
Until compelled to choose—with a heavy heart.
 
And ever since, I've been so anxious, tense—
Whenever conflicts rose or could be seen
Arising on the road ahead that I
Would lapse again to depths of cowardice.
 
“A brave one dies but once; a coward dies
A thousand deaths”. And this, I've realized—
As every day, I wake—not touched by hope,
But fear instead—as dawn brings deeper night.
 
******
 
What remedy is there for cowardice—
When basic discipline has broken down?
I wish I knew. I’ve tried to face the fear
And live with it—as I have done so far.
 
But how much longer can I live in dread?
And how much longer can I put on hold
The acts of living, as I’ve done for long?
And what, for others, is the consequence?
 
In all my years, I’ve had my share of woe,
Have suffered losses, wept and smiled again,
Have labored, struggled, savored small success—
But now, for twenty years, I've dug this well.
 
******
 
And more and more I now distract myself
With things that seem of little consequence—
And so avoid the acts that dredge up all
That makes me panic. So the tension builds.
 
2022 Aug 15, Mon.
(on the 75^th anniversary
of India's independence)
Berkeley, California
 

Hopelessness

Hopelessness

There is a value to humility
That those who’re blind from hubris cannot see,
But there’s a worth to all of those ideals
So often lost from scorn or apathy.

The eyes of children often brightly shine,
But when they’re older, then their eyes are dulled.
So also, men and women strive with zeal,
Until their strength is sapped by worldly things.

How many humans walk upon this earth
And yet feel nothing underneath their feet
Except the aches of age and weariness,
While trudging with the burdens of defeat?

When meaning and desire have both been drained,
What’s left is to what was before as is
The corpse to all the life that once had been—
Except, there’s a feeling left—of hopelessness.

2017 December 22nd, Friday
UFT teachers’ room, JHS K 220
Brooklyn, New York
  
Substitute teaching, for all its perils, offers a window of survival to those who depend on it for a bare living, and also of some remnant connection and usefulness to those who are retired from teaching.

Of course, some retired teachers have other sources of financial and emotional sustenance, and might prefer to stay as far as possible from the schools in which they spent most of their working lives.
 

Defeats

   
Defeats
 
A mother or a father might expend their lives
on raising children, who might then show gratitude
or not – or even harm the ones who nurtured them.

A woman might spend years upon a spouse
and have him leave her for another and
an artist might have labored long on work –
with little recompense or naught – and then
awake one day to find it stolen or
to find that punishment is his reward.

And what recourse have they, who face such things, except
to turn, when reason fails, to that philosophy
that others past had turned to, in their own defeats?

We labor hard and fail, and that’s defeat.
We rise from where we fell, to try yet more
and then succeed – or not.  And this, we know,
is hard enough, but when accomplishment,
for which we’ve paid with years of labor, is
appropriated, scorned, destroyed – what then?

It’s then we're tested, like the metal in the fire,
that’s heated till it glows, incandescent,
and yet retains, awhile, its own integrity.

The Buddhists and the Stoics have advised
that victory and defeat, like pleasure, pain,
are waves upon a sea whose depths are still –
and so should be acknowledged and observed
with tranquil eyes that see their transience
and that of the chimera called "the self".

The ones we love – they suffer and they die, before
or after we have left – and though we ache at this,
this knowledge may be used to act in gentleness.
 
2014 August 14th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York