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

Resolve

  
Resolve
 
How hard it is to leave our comfort zones
To face the full and harsh realities. 
It's so for each of us, within our lives,
And so for groups that shy from verities.
 
And yet, for each of us, there's no escape.
And so it is for groups and nations too.
It's better to resolve to face the truth—
For each collective, as for me and you.
 
How often can one see, in retrospect,
How daft, misguided, one had been.
So also, groups and nations lose their sense
And stoop to actions lethal and obscene.
 
******
 
The angels and the devils live within
Our “foes”, our “friends”, and also you and me.
The monster and the saint are both in us—
And this is what we often fail to see.
 
We cherish those we love—and that is good,
But often draw a circle that excludes
The others, whom we tend to then perceive
As aliens—or even demon-broods.
 
And so, deluded, dulled by myths we’re taught,
We’re snared and fashioned by the liar’s art.
Accepting then the endless lies we’re fed,
We lapse in sense in both the mind and heart.
  
****** 
  
The “races”, tongues, and cultures mix and so
They make the mixtures that we humans are.
And yet we puff with pride and hiss with hate
Against our fellows—while we wage our wars.
 
The soldiers, who are led to kill, be killed—
They follow orders as they’re trained to do,
But if by chance they met the other side
In peacetime, each might share a meal or two.
  
So much of caring humans give—and take,
And yet they’re led, by blinded fealty,
To senseless mayhem. Fathers, brothers rage,
As mothers, sisters cheer their cruelty.
  
****** 
  
Let’s wake, oh humans, turn from bondage, so
We open up our hearts and minds and eyes.
Let’s seek the truth, however hard that be;
Forsake our comforts, false, in easy lies.
  
So many lies, repeated endlessly,
By those who’re shameless, freed of ethics, laws,
Inclined to evil, ruthless, sparing none,
They feed the children, too, to Mammon’s maws!
  
Discern these monsters, understand their ways—
Relearn the history that’s been buried deep.
Resolve to work to bring some light again
To darkness, smiles to those who wail and weep. 
  
****** 
  
The angels and the devils live within
Our “foes”, our “friends”, and also you and me.
The monster and the saint are both in us
And this is what we often fail to see.
  
How hard it is to leave our comfort zones
To face the full and harsh realities. 
It's so for each of us, within our lives,
And so for groups that shy from verities.
  
And yet, for each of us, there's no escape.
And so it is for groups and nations too.
It's better to resolve to face the truth—
For each collective, as for me and you.
   
2025 October 18, Sat.
Berkeley, California
  

Haters

Haters

The bigot on the side of A reflects 
The bigot on the side of B. Indeed,
They are in essence truly just the same.
Today, they seek to vilify each other.
Tomorrow, other targets will be found.

So also, powers rise and rule the world
That seem to need a steady stream of "foes",
In whose destruction they get purpose, joy.

When every "foe" is utterly destroyed,
One wonders how the haters will survive,
Except by turning then upon their "own",
As needed so that hatred doesn't die.

2025 July 6th, Sun.
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 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
.

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 

Does It Matter?

Does It Matter?

So does it matter, if a woman says
that she’s a Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Jew
or Sikh, believing in a god or gods—
or Buddhist, Jain, for whom that matters not—
or is a follower of another creed
or disavows them all—or does not know?

And does it matter, if she says to you
that she’s a citizen of this or that—
or whether you perceive her lineage has
some more or less or none of that or this?

Or does it matter more, if through her acts
she shows that she has more of faith in you
than others might, and that she does not need
your passport shown to her and can perceive
your heart and mind, beyond your face and skin?

Does kindness have a country or a faith?
Is it confined within a species or a race?

Behold the being, of the man or dog,
in deeper essence than its outer form.
So many sorrows would be lessened, if
we found again this sight—that we have lost.

2018 July 8th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York

  

Saint or Sinner?

Saint or Sinner?

Show us a sinner or show us a saint,
And we’ll find, in the first one, an aspect of worth,
And then, in the second, as surely, a taint—
For such are the natures of beings on Earth.

Let's open the corrals we use to constrain
The field of our fellows to friends and to foes,
And know—that these boxes we try to maintain
May often be nests that can nurture our woes.

Let's value a friendship, beware of a foe,
Yet open a passage where beings may flow,
For such are their natures, not solid, but more
Of a fluid—at times, like the breezes that blow.

So is he a “saint” or is he a “sinner”?
Or if we're like Trump, and addicted to sin,
Then is he a “loser” or is he a “winner”?
Could sinners be saints, just as losers might win?

And is she a blessing or is she a pain,
Or is she a bit of them both?  It is time
That we leave you to think, as we end this refrain
That we've couched, for your pleasure, in meter and rhyme.

2017 September 25th Mon.
(2nd-to-last stanza and minor edits added October 1st, Sun.)

Mayar Dha~dha-মায়ার ধাঁধা-The Maze of Delusion

 
The truth is that every empire, nation, community, family and individual is capable of great cruelty, as also of great kindness. This has been demonstrated over and over again, and we are seeing it being demonstrated now, all over the world. We still need to speak out and act against the cruelty and to recognize and support the kindness.

However, those who see and feel beyond a narrowing of vision and of heart are always vilified. Those who work for the common good and against scapegoating, demonizing and division are inevitably labeled as foreign agents, traitors, etc. Sadly, it is the same in every country, in every age.

https://www.facebook.com/madhusree.mukerjee/posts/1488465891211160

https://www.facebook.com/arjun.janah/posts/10154561847215950

https://www.facebook.com/andrew.wickham.52/posts/10156083779321562 
-------------------------------------------------------------

There are four sections of verse below:

• মায়ার ধাঁধা
  --in Bengali, in the traditional script;
• Māẏāra Dhām̐dhā
  --a Roman transcription, via http://translate.google.com;
• Mayar Dha~dha
  --a Roman transcription, using the scheme summarized at http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/02/bharot-xadhin-indias-freedom.html
  and in item 3 at http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2017/03/likhbe-xexe-je-writer-at-end.html;
• The Maze of Delusion
  --a very free translation into English.

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

মায়ার ধাঁধা

আর্য় বলে, ‘ভজ তাদের,
যাদের চামড়া গোরা৷’
এ দেশী বলে, ‘বিদেশী, তুমি
সব মন্দের গোড়া৷’

ওগো মূর্খ, গোণো এবার
পুরোনো পাপের আয়৷
বিরাট পাপী, রাজা হয়ে,
রক্ত চুষে খায়৷

******

কত যে দুঃখ, কত যে কষ্ট,
মায়ার ধাঁধায় পড়ে!
নিজেকে মেরেছ,  নিজেকে নষ্ট
করেছ যুগযুগ ধরে৷

ফিরে চাইলে,  দেখবে সব ই
অকারণে করা৷
এত সৃষ্টির স্বত্ত্বেও, শুধু
বৃথা ভুগে ভুগে মরা৷

শনিবার, ২২ এপ্রিল, ২০১৭ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক
-------------------------------------------------------------

Māẏāra Dhām̐dhā

Ārẏa balē, 'Bhaja tādēra,
yādēra cāmaṛā gōrā'.
Ē dēśī balē, 'Bidēśī, tumi
saba mandēra gōṛā'.

Ōgō mūrkha, gōṇō ēbāra
purōnō pāpēra āẏa.
Birāṭa pāpī, rājā haẏē,
rakta cuṣē khāẏa.

******

Kata yē duḥkha, kata yē kaṣṭa,
māẏāra dhām̐dhāẏa paṛē!
Nijēkē mērēcha, nijēkē naṣṭa
karēcha yugayuga dharē.

Phirē cā'ilē, dēkhabē saba i
akāraṇē karā.
Ēta sr̥ṣṭira sbattbē'ō, śudhu
br̥thā bhugē bhugē marā.

Śanibāra, 22 Ēprila, 2017 Khri
Bruklina, Ni'uẏarka
-------------------------------------------------------------

Mayar Dha~dha

Arjo bo`le, “Bho`jo tader,
jader camr’a gora.”
E dexi bo`le, “Bidexi, tumi
xo`b monder gor’a.”

Ogo murkho, gon’o ebar
purono paper ae.
Birat’ papi, raja hoe,
ro`kto cuxe khae.

******

Ko`to je dukkho, jo`to je ko`xt’o,
mayar dha~dhae por’e!
Nijeke merecho, nijeke no`xt’o
korecho jugjug dhore.

Phire caile, dekhbe xo`b i
okaron’e ko`ra.
E`to srixt’ir xottheo, xudhu
britha bhuge bhuge mo`ra.

Xonibar, 22e Epril, 2017 Khri
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk
-------------------------------------------------------------

The Maze of Delusion

The Arya made us understand
the curse of darker skin.
The patriot “knows” the foreign hand
is planting more of sin.

Oh foolish folk, now sit and count
the wages of your acts.
The greatest sinner now can mount
the throne and tout his “facts”.

******

How much of woe, how much of pain,
from racing through the maze!
We’ve injured self and soul again,
while caught in maya’s daze.

On looking back, we see that all
was done for no good reason.
So deep, this hole in which we fall
yet deeper, every season!

2017, April 22nd, Sat.
(translated May 12th, Sat.)
Brooklyn, New York

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

 
https://www.facebook.com/madhusree.mukerjee/posts/1488465891211160 

https://www.facebook.com/arjun.janah/posts/10154561847215950

https://www.facebook.com/andrew.wickham.52/posts/10156083779321562
 

Murkho Manux-মূর্খ মানুষ-We Foolish Men

This post consists of the following, in descending vertical order:

• four lines in Bengali (মূর্খ মানুষ); 
• a Roman transcription (Mūrkha Mānuṣa) from http://translate.google.com;
• a voice recording of the Bengali;*
• a Roman transcription (Murkho Manux) as described at Bharot Xadhin;
• an English translation (We Foolish Men).

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

* A reasonable, prosaic voicing can now also be heard by:

• copying and pasting the Bengali-script text into the left panel at the Google link given above (after selecting Bengali as the input language);
• and then clicking on the speaker icon below that left panel.

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

মূর্খ মানুষ 

হায় ভগবান, হায় আল্লাহ, 
হায় গৌতম, চৈতন্য!
মূর্খ মানুষ হয়েছে পাগল, 
নিজেকে করেছে অন্য৷

মঙ্গলবার, ৪ঠা মার্চ, ২০১৭ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক
-------------------------------------

Mūrkha Mānuṣa

Hāẏa bhagabāna, hāẏa āllāha,
hāẏa gautama, caitan'ya!
Mūrkha mānuṣa haẏēchē pāgala,
nijēkē karēchē an'ya.

Maṅgalabāra, 4ṭhā Mārca, 2017 Khri
Bruklina, Ni'uẏarka
---------------------------------------------

Please click on the rounded triangular play-button on
the right to hear a voice recording. In some browsers,
you may have to click a second time. This might not
work on cellphones.  Adjust the volume on your device
as needed.


Record and upload voice >>
---------------------------------------------
Murkho Manux

Hae bho'goban, hae alla,
Hae goutom, coitonno!
Murkho manux hoeche pagol,
Nijeke koreche onno.

Mongolbar, 4t’ha Marc, 2017 Khri
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk
------------------------------------------

We Foolish Men

Oh god, with all your many names,
Oh dear, departed brothers!
We foolish men have lost our minds,
And see ourselves as others.

2017 April 4th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York

The Pakistani

 
The Pakistani
 
My passport said I’m Indian,
But now it says I’m not.
Can a booklet, stamped, then change me?
Am I Indian still—or not?

I had met a man from Pakistan.
We had sat and talked awhile.
There was laughter and discussion,
And we’d parted with a smile.

But later, at the newsstand,
When I’d bought the Daily Star,
I chanced to read that India,
With his nation, was at war.

So was that man my enemy?
And was I his, as well?
I pondered on this thing a while,
But I did not, on it, dwell.

I’m a man who pinches pennies,
Being stingy to a fault.
That I’m not yet rich as Bloomberg,
I ascribe to Heaven’s vault.

So I wondered if his passport
Said he still was Pakistani.
If so, it stood to reason
That I didn’t owe him money.

For that man—he had insisted
On paying for my lunch—
Those kebabs of spicy chicken
On which I liked to munch.

If he chanced to be my enemy,
As the papers did portend,
Then I didn’t owe him anything—
As is the current trend.

I’ve heard it said a dozen times,
And probably yet more.
“You do not owe her anything!
She loved to do that chore.”

But being still an honest man,
As raised by aunts and uncles,
I still attempt to pay my debts,
Although this often rankles.

My miser says, “They told you so.
And yet you feel indebted!”
My upright one says. “Pay your debt,
Before your rear is dented!”

And so, in my conflicted self,
I mulled upon the matter.
And in my head, for quite a while,
I heard incessant chatter.

For pausing, I’d remembered this—
My passport—that it said
I was no longer Indian.  I
Was USA’n instead!

And so, it seemed I owed him,
That fellow, for that lunch—
Unless he was an agent
Of a nation we should crunch.

But I wondered if that remnant
Of an Indian, still in me,
Could claim, “He’s Pakistani!
And so that lunch was free!”

I slept and saw a chicken,
Who came to claim the cost.
“It’s me, whom you have eaten…”
But then, that dream was lost.

******

The laws can be our saviors.
They permit us men to kill
The chickens, in the peacetimes,
And in wars as well, at will.

As for humans, what is needed
(As delivered in the Star),
For dues to be dissolved is—
The starting of a war.

So debts can then be vanished
And lives are then forfeit.
And woe to those who claim then
That this is foul deceit!

There are always, with us, women,
And fellows too, who need
A whacking, so they’re silenced
As we focus on the deed.

There are reasons for our wars then—
For they free us of constraints.
When our interests are threatened,
Should we still proceed as saints?

I wondered if I’d meet him—
That man from Pakistan,
Who foolishly had treated me
As he might, a fellow man!

For since we both had remnants
If not more, of what we were,
I didn’t owe him anything—
As my logic could infer.

He had said, “We both are desis.”
If so, we were at war!
And if he would deny this,
I’d show him then the Star…

*******

A land can be divided,
And so can people be—
By the colors of their testicles
Or the side on which they sleep.

So though we both were desis,   \1
And the word he used was bhai,  \2
I hope I will not meet him,
And I’m sure you'll figure why.

2015 November 7th, Sat. 9:38 pm
Skyway (Pakistani dhaba),  Bath Avenue  \3
(Some stanzas added Nov. 8th Sun.)
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York

Notes on some Hindustani (Hindi-Urdu) words:  \4

1. desi:  countryman, from the word desh (land, country – as in Bangladesh, the land of Bengal).

This is similar in meaning to the Spanish paisano, but is used by expatriates from the northern parts of the subcontinent to refer to all subcontinentals, whatever be their nationalities—thus including Indians, Pakistanis, Bangladeshis, Srilankans, Nepalis, Bhutanese...

2. bhai:  brother, from the Sanskrit bhrata, cognate to Farsi (Persian) barodar, German Brueder, Latin frater, etc.

Note also:  desi bhai and desi behen (brother-countryman and sister-countrywoman / subcontinental).

3. dhaba:  roadside teashop and eatery

4. Hindustani: from the land  near and to the east of the river Indus, as viewed from Fars (Persia, modern Iran), Afghanistan and Central Asia.  This is derived from the Persian word for land/country/region (Farsi stan, cognate to Sanskrit sthan) and the Persian name for the Indus (Farsi Hindu, cognate to Sanskrit Sindhu).

This word is used, among other things, for the language that was (and still is) the lingua franca of the northern subcontinent, as well as of certain parts much further south.

Urdu and Hindi are two of the more formal, "literate" versions of Hindustani.  Urdu is usually written in a modified Persian script (itself a modification of the Arabic script) and is often full of  words borrowed from Arabic and Persian. Hindi is usually written in the native Devanagari script (also used for Sanskrit in much of northern India) and has increasingly become full of Sanskrit borrowings.

However, Urdu and Hindi, when used by common folk for everyday matters, are not only mutually completely intelligible, they are in fact identical in grammar, syntax and base vocabulary.  Croatian (written in the Roman script) and Serbian (written in a Cyrillic script) are the Balkan counterparts of Urdu and Hindi.  Just as one refers to the spoken language as Serbo-Croatian, so also one should perhaps refer to the common spoken language of the cities and more of the northern subcontinent as Hindi-Urdu or Hindustani.

Just as in the Balkans, the divide between the two formal languages stems in large part from religious divides (which in both cases arose from the histories of the regions, including that of the socio-economic systems and empires that rose and fell in each).  However, although Urdu is the national language of Islamic Pakistan, and Hindi is a national language of (increasingly less) secular India, in which Hindus dominate, there are millions of Muslims who are fluent in Hindi and probably also millions of Hindus whose Urdu is decent.

 

Kaker Gan—কাকের গান—The Cawing of the Crows

  

The late poet of Bengal, Kazi Nazrul Islam, had written:

Hinduism and Muslimism can be borne.  But their topknotism and beardism are unbearable, for these lead to violence.  Topknotism is not Hinduism, perhaps it is punditism/brahminism.  So also, beardism is not Islam, it is mullahism.  It is about these two clumps of hair, marked with their “isms” , that we have, today, so much of hair-pulling.  The violent conflict that has started now is also a fight between topknotism and beardism.  It is not a fight between Hindus and Muslims...  Humans do not quarrel over light.  But they do so over cows and goats.

-- [Rudra Mangal (Rudro Mo`ngol), Written Works, Volume 1, p.707]

The verses below, in the traditional Bengali  script, are  followed by two transcriptions into Roman letters.  After  these, there is a loose translation into English. 
    
কাকের গান
  
টিকি ও দাড়ির লড়াই,
আলোর থেকে ঘুরে,
আজো চলেছে, তাই
শুদ্ধি রয়েছে দূরে৷

সাতাল্লিশে দুই –
ভারত, পাকিস্তান৷
একাত্তরে  তিন৷
তাও ত কাকের গান৷

তাও ত টিকি নরে,
তাও ত দাড়ির ঝোঁক৷
চুলোচুলির ফলে,
খুনোখুনির শোক৷

জানি না নজরুল নাকি,
লিখেছিল কেঁদে কাল:
যতদিন চুলের কানুন,
ততদিন মাটিতে লাল৷

শোনেনি, শোনেনি তারা,
ব্যথিত মানুষের ডাক৷
মোল্লা, পণ্ডিত যারা,
রয়েছে এখনো কাক৷
  
রবিবার, ১লা নভেম্বর, ২৹১৫ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক
------------------------------------------------
   
Kaker Gan   (transcription 1: follows standard pronunciation)
   
For a summary of the transcription scheme used here, please see the the preface to the post at  Bharot Xadhin (India Free). 
  

T’iki o dar’ir lo`r’ai,
alor theke ghure,
ajo coleche, tai
xuddhi roeche dure.

Xatallixe dui – 
Bharot, Pakistan.
E`kattore tin.
Tao to kaker gan.
  
Tao to t’iki no`re,
tao to dar’ir jho~k.
Culaculir pho`le,
khunankunir xok.
  
Jani na nojrul naki,
likhechilo ke~de kal:
Jo`todin culer kanun,
to`todin mat’ite lal.

Xoneni, xoneni tara,
be`thito manuxer d’ak.
Molla, pon’d’it jara,
roeche e`khono kak.
  
1-la No`bhembo`r, 2015 Khri.
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk
------------------------------------------------

Kākēr Gān   (transcription 2: follows traditional spelling)
 
This is the "machine transcription" for Bengali that is available 
(along with "machine translations" that are not yet palatable) at 
https://translate.google.com/ .  I have edited that transcription lightly 
to remove those"a" letters (usually at the ends of words) that are silent 
in current spoken Bengali. These are implicit in the traditional syllabic 
script but are made explicit in the machine transcription.  I have also 
added periods (full stops), along with capitalization in the English style.
  
Tiki ō dāṛir laṛā'i,
ālōr thēkē ghurē,
ājō calēchē, tā'i
śud'dhi raẏēchē dūrē.

Sātālliśē du'i --
Bhārat, Pākistān.
Ēkāttarē tin.
Tā'ō ta kākēr gān.

Tā'ō ta ṭiki narē,
tā'ō ta dāṛir jhōm̐k.
Culāculir phalē,
khunākhunir śōk.

Jāni nā najrul nāki,
likhēchilō kēm̐dē kāl:
Yatadin culēr kānun,
tatadin māṭitē lāl.

Śōnēni, śōnēni tārā,
byathit mānuṣēr ḍāk.
Mōllā, paṇḍit yārā,
raẏēchē ēkhanō kāk.

1-lā Nabhēmbar, 2015 Khri.
Bruklin, Ni'uẏark
------------------------------------------------
 
The Crows’ Song  (The Cawing of the Crows)

The beards’ and top-knots’ battles,
Retreating from the light,
Are raging still.  And sadly
Correction’s not in sight.
  
In two, and then in three bits,
As pyres and graveyards fill,
The land has been divided.
Yet crows are cawing still.

And still the top-knot wiggles,
And still the beard’s the trend.
The fashions change with seasons,
But when will slaughters end?

Was it Nazrul then who wept once
And penned these lines in dread?
“As long as hairstyles rule us,
The ground is wet with red.”
  
They did not, would not hear then
The cries of those in pain—
Those mullahs, pundits, others,
Who still, as crows, remain.

2015 November 1st, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York
    

The Gentle God

The Gentle God
 
The tongues and faiths of men and women are
As myriad as our faces.  Each of us
Is born, by chance, in one or other tribe.
Yet over this, we build our heaps of fuss.

We’re riven by religions, languages,
By “races”, classes, occupations, more...
We raise our fences, barb our borders and
We’re never done with all our ruthless gore...

Our families are sundered by our strife –
Our clans dispersed – our tribes, by tempests, blown…
We meet the “strangers”, know that they are us –
And yet pretend that they are not our own...

The nation-states and empires work their ruin –
Our inner demons turned to genies great,
As you and I express our discontent
By heaping blame on those we love to hate.

We humans still have satisfactions small –
But these appear no longer good enough.
Ambition, ego, greed and worse demand
Yet more acclaim, achievement, power, stuff…

There’s Nature, wondrous, bountiful and yet
At times enraged or sullen in her moods...
Then all of our entreaties are as naught,
As death and sorrow mark those interludes...

But then, we’ve men – and women, not outdone.
They've grown in hubris and in violence,
With empires, corporations, warrior-states –
Their mobs and armies and their borders tense...

Our minds have opened up the universe,
Wrung secrets from the stars and atoms, yet
Our wisdom lags, as men create such things
As even devils wish they could forget.

From fear we murder, and from greed we die –
And vice versa, as the wheel revolves.
And yet we claim that this is not a lie –
That humankind, towards betterment, evolves...

Among the gods to whom we turn to pray,
Is there, perhaps, a god of gentleness –
Or goddess of the same – of tranquil ways –
Who’ll answer yet our pleas to end this mess?

Is there a god or goddess, who
Can whisper in a tyrant’s ear, can soothe
The raging mob, can softly touch a heart
Or make a furrowed brow, with a gesture, smooth?

Alas, the gods are our projections too.
Divinities are limited in scope.
Their knowledge, power hardly cover all.
A lesson there – perhaps a bit of hope…

The gentleness within us waits to speak –
But when it does, it speaks with silences.
For when we feel it fill and heal our hearts,
We’ve no more need for all our sentences…

The gentle god is there in all of us.
The gentle goddess – she is smiling too,
As tears are flowing down her cheeks, for she
Is Hindu, Muslim, Christian, Buddhist, Jew…

2014 August 3rd, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Interwoven

   

Interwoven

                  

The past, the present and the future are

As interwoven as the tribes of men.

Who posits, simply, “That and they are other!”

Forgets his birth and therefore shuns his brother.

So men are blinded and they go to war.

And yet, in battle, each can other ken,

When slaughter's done, and plunderer then finds

A little note that him, of home, reminds.

******

We leave our homes and often travel far,

We think that now is different from then,

But actions past, that rippled out, return

And at our journey's end, we homewards turn

Our ethics may no longer serve to bar

Such actions as might harm our fellow men,

But everything we do has consequences

That only are revealed in future tenses.

2013 September 1, Sat. 3:50 am..
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn
 

Two Peoples

    
Two Peoples
                                 
We humans are the same, it seems, wherever you may go,
Yet populations cleave in two – or three or even more.
For night and day may alternate, but solace is denied
To all but those who're fortunate, across the great divide.

And some may say, “That's balderdash!  They've risen through their wit,
By labor while the others slept, ascending bit by bit!”
Yet others claim the cleavage is not simply into two.
But since we are of simple mind, the two will have to do. 

******
             
Half the world has darkness, while the other half has light.
But most of us have misery and few have true delight.
Should happiness not spread itself, like sunlight at the dawn,
Should miseries not fade away, in the golden light of morn?

How strange it is that some see dark, where others see the light,
For humans seem identical to all but gifted sight.
With bodies and with minds alike and speech and feelings too,
Could conscience, strength or reason be what cleaves us into two?

“Alas!  It is a nightfall.” say the ones who suffer most,
“For even as the others, of their proud achievements, boast,
We're yielding to the darkness, and our lives are filled with pain.
And though we struggle hard to rise, we're beaten down again.

“Our days are spent in labor and our nights are spent in dread,
Our evenings in lamenting and in wishing we were dead.
And some of us have exited in ways that others fear,
And some are waiting listlessly, with exits drawing near.

“But others take their leisure in the comfort of a bed,
With joy at what's accomplished and with hopes for days ahead.
You can hear them as they're talking, while their children laugh and play.
They're planning their vacations that will start again in May.”

And those, who aren't beaten down, who've risen to the heights,
Proclaim, “There is a world to win, that's filled with sweet delights.
The human race advances – and the ones, who still complain,
Are lazy or are ignorant.  Their kind, we should disdain.

“We're chosen by divinity – or what you wish to call it.
And so we're truly different – as kangaroo from rabbit.
Where rabbits hop and stop and hop, we bound across with glee.
The difference, if you would look, is clear enough to see.

“We live our lives in gratitude for being what we are.
Whichever way we go, it's clear that we'll be going far.
We have no use for pessimists, they always are a drag.
They spend their time complaining.  That's the reason that they lag.”

And which of these describes aright the world that humans live in,
I will not try to tell you – but will leave for your decision.
It seems the world has peoples two – or even more than three,
And each can see a world that is unlike what others see.

Now could it be the world itself is really two, not one?
Or even three, as some have claimed – and surely not in fun?
I leave to you, to figure out complexities, but now,
It's time to sleep, for I'm in pain and suffering.  Ow-ow!

And if you think that's funny, you had better think again.
How shameless that you'd laugh at one, who really is in pain.
I'll be waiting till you've aged and then are whimpering.  I'll laugh!
But woe!  I'll long be gone by then.  You're grain, and I am chaff.

2013 August 29th, Thu. & 30th, Fri.
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn