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

No Verses

 
No Verses
.
So many verses written—scribbled, typed,
And posted, sent to others far away.
So many more that come at times to mind—
From where—and wherefore—who can truly say?
.
Adrift upon the stream, we near the sea
And hear, afar, the waves that crash and roar.
We sense the dark—the endless, waiting deep.
No verses there—or minds—for evermore.
.
******
.
The dawn that once brought hope now brings despair
As tens of thousands die—or wish they could—
As those who live are filled with grief and pain—
And most, who witness, now have understood
.
That evil often triumphs, laying waste
To all that’s good and precious: tenderness
And quietude—and love and due respect—
As Mammon grins and profits from duress. 
.
****** 
.
How many are the ones who've died in waves,
As lands were conquered or were laid to waste, 
As guns and bombs replaced the clubs and swords,
And Greed and Fear infected all with haste?
.
I hear the children laugh; I hear them weep.
I hear the dying, burned and blasted, moan.
I fear departure, leaving those I know
To fend for selves, with others, or alone.
.
****** 
.
But who among us chooses time or place
To enter or to exit from the stage
On which we walk and act and say our words—
And then depart—at ripe or tender age?
.
The dusk, descending, whispers now of night,
And I will venture out, beneath the stars,
To breathe and try to find a passing peace,
As all around delight in distant wars.
.
****** 
.
So many verses written—scribbled, typed,
And posted, sent to others far away.
So many more that come at times to mind—
From where—and wherefore—who can truly say?
.
Adrift upon the stream, we near the sea
And hear, afar, the waves that crash and roar.
We sense the dark—the endless, waiting deep.
No verses there—or minds—for evermore.
.
2024 October 3rd & 5th.
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
.

Biden’s Bombs-War and Money

.
Biden’s Bombs / War and Money
.
Biden’s bombs, Biden’s bombs—
Two thousand pounds apiece—
They blow the kids to smithereens, 
And serve to keep the peace.
.
If Trump returns, he’ll send more bombs 
To Israel and say,
“We’ll send them to the Saudis too, 
If they agree to pay.”
.
And hearing all the folk who shout
That this is genocide 
And fearing that in politics
This might be suicide,
.
Biden, Blinken both declare,
“We need to end the strife.”
But keep on sending bombs and planes
To end what's left of life.
.
******
.
War and money, war and money—
Whatever be the weather—
You’ll find that each provides for each. 
They always go together.
.
We've made our zones of peace, within
Their circles wide or small,
Where business booms. Outside the zones,
We find the free-for-all.
.
And that is where our bombs are dropped—
And conflicts are inflamed,
As money drives the wheels of war, 
And “terrorists” are blamed.
.
Wealth and power, wealth and power,
Unabated greed:
Death and dread and suffering—
These are what they feed.
.
******
.
Religion and democracy—
It’s not about that stuff.
It’s all about the land, the oil…
We’ll never have enough.
.
So don’t believe the evening news;
It’s sadly filled with lies.
When eyes and minds and hearts are blind,
Then truth, with justice, dies.
.
“Why should we care for Palestine
And people far away?
But Israel is different!”
Is what the people say.
.
But Biden's bombs are ours too. 
Our taxes pay for those.
The Congo, Yemen, South Sudan?
They aren't far. They're close.
.
2024 May 22nd, Wed.
Berkeley, California
.

Truth and Justice

  
Truth and Justice
 
In each of us there is a sense, innate,
Of fairness, just as each of us can sense
Another’s feelings—almost like our own.
And some of us, at least, have always sought
The truth, discarding comfort based on lies.
 
So empathy and truth and justice—each 
Have always been of worth to humankind—
And every script revered appeals to these,
With words like these in treasured texts inscribed.
And yet, injustice reigns—along with lies.
 
****** 
 
And why is this? Some say the cause is greed 
For wealth and power, each supporting each.
And surely these are drives with low regard
For kindness, truth or justice, but there are
Some other causes too, including these—
 
Our ignorance, our fear, our apathy,
And all our history of lords and kings—
The weeding out of those who dared to speak
Or act against the rule of clubs and swords, 
And now the jails of jobs—and rains of bombs.
 
****** 
 
What gain is there in life for those who seek
For truth, for those who see another’s pain,
And those who strive for equity for all?
The gain is more of persecution, pain—
And yet they try, and fail, and try again.
 
Observe the ones who speak against the lie.
Behold the ones resisting, those who die—
Behold their courage and observe their faith.
One might believe in justice after death,
Another not—yet both believe in right.
 
2024, May 14th, Tue.
Berkeley, California
 

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

 

T'akar khe'la-টাকার খেলা

 
টাকার খেলা

শ্রমের চাপে, কৃষক-কুলির 
শরীর ভেঙে পড়ে। 
ধনিক জনের সঞ্চয় বাড়ে।
গরীব ভুগে মরে।

জীবন ধরে, বেদম খেটে, 
শ্রমিক খোড়ে গর্ত। 
খাজনা-সুদ-মুনাফায় বাড়ে 
পুঁজিপতির অর্থ।

সব ক্রিয়াতে টাকার খেলা, 
কৃপার ঘোর অভাব। 
‘শান্তি’-কালেও যুদ্ধ চলে। 
মহাজনের লাভ।

লোভের থেকে, হিংস্রতা,
লুন্ঠন, হাহাকার।
সহ্য করলে, মৃত্যু ধীরে।
লড়লে, শীঘ্র বার।

জনসাধারণ বন্দী থাকে 
ধূর্ত ঠকের ফাঁদে। 
অন্যায়-অত্যাচারের জুলুম।
অনাথ শিশু কাঁদে।

 বৃহস্পতিবার, ২৮ 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

Blindness, Evil and Greed

 
Blindness, Evil and Greed

“Out of sight is out of mind.”

And this, the rulers know.

So humans can be blasted, burned,

In places far away—

And other species tortured, killed, 

In places out of sight,

So those of us who do not see

Can watch our TV shows

And carry on, as if these things

Were mere imaginings.

 

And there are those, with hardened hearts,

Who find their entertainment

In parties on a hilltop, where

They watch the bombs exploding

Within the city they have cursed

As children burn and die—

A cause for celebration, since

They might “grow up to fight”.

 

So people who are prominent

Quite publicly declare

Support for endless massacres

And even loudly cheer

Destruction, death, and suffering,

Till those they see as “vermin”

That plague the promised land 

Are dead or fled and cleared.

 

So some are blind to evil, while

Some others seek revenge—

Not “an eye for an eye”, but a hundredfold—

Not soldiers fighting others,

But bombs that rain, for months on end,

On those defenseless, trapped—

On children, women, elders, men,

Removing limbs and skin,

And leaving others who survive

To perish, buried deep.

 

So some are blind or seek revenge,

And these are everywhere,

But others simply want to clear

The nuisance that resists—

That stands against their endless greed—

By chance—or act of will.

 

And these are they who start these things

And these are they who steer

The rest, through lies and influence,

Towards more and more of war.

 

So what we see in Gazza—that

Is not an aberration,

But just the latest episode

Within that local roil

Of death and grief and suffering

That never seems to end.

And there are others we forget

Or never even knew of, 

Who suffered through their genocides,

Unseen, unheard—as though

They never had existed.

And some, who visit where they lived,

May find their silent bones,

And linger, for a while, perhaps,

Where once they'd built their homes,

Deserted now—or filled with those

Who came and took their place,

Not knowing or reviling those

Whose crime was mere existence. 

We think these things are far away

In distance or in time,

And see no reason why we should

Be bothered by these troubles. 

Yet all the world is joined and one.

In blindness or in vision,

What happens there will happen here, 

Unless we see and act.

2024  January 25th, Thu.
Berkeley, California 
 

We’ll Blast You Straight to Hell!

 
We’ll Blast You Straight to Hell!

This is our god, the only god!
The other gods are false!
And if you would deny this, why,
We’ll rid you of your balls!

This is our prophet, the best and last!
No others are permitted!
And if you would say otherwise,
To hell, you’ll be remitted.
 
This is the truth, the only truth!
And everything else is lies!
It answers whats, it answers hows,
It even answers whys!
 
This is the way, the only way!
The others lead to hell!
We use these exclamation points,
For we still have stuff to sell!

There’s up and down! And we are up
And you are down below!
So toil, you slaves! And don’t complain!
Your kind deserves no more!

******

This is our race, the master race!
The others must bow low!
And those that have corrupted this—
Our purity—must go!

We are the ones who’re chosen. God
Has led us through the ages!
We’ve suffered!  Now, we own the world—
And smile, as havoc rages!

This is our creed, the greatest creed,
And everything else is shit!
And if you would say otherwise,
You must be poor of wit!

But see!  Ha ha! You now are lost!
You’ve all been led astray!
There is no truth, there is no god!
There never was a way—

Except the way that money talks,
And that’s the way we sell!
And if we find you’re in our way,
We’ll blast you straight to hell!

2017 May 28th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York

 

Incubus

  
Incubus
 
I have spoken, I have written – of the madness that afflicts us.
And I’m one among the millions, who have noted that we’re mad.
But still there’s no abatement. The fever hasn’t peaked.
And what is the prognosis? The answer is, “It’s bad.”
 
For an illness not resisted, of the body or the mind,
Can be one that turns to lethal. Should we let the patient die?
Should he suffer in his torment, unnoticed till he’s dead?
Should we cover up his torture – and his corpus, with a lie?
 
For the patient is no other than our species – and the world.
And the seed may be from Nature, but it’s found a soil in us.
And its growth is ugly, monstrous – and it’s choking all the rest.
It’s an illness that’s devouring – and its vectors – they are us.
 
There is madness, in our culture, that has entered in our blood.
Insanity’s the driver that has brought the world to this –
That the sane among us sicken, as they see what has been wrought
By the god whose name is “Mammon” and is “Madness” – with a hiss.
 
The hissing of a serpent is a warning to the one
That might tread upon its body.  But the sibilant that ends
The name of “Mammon-Madness” is the hissing sound of death,
For it tells of dread affliction – and of horrors, it portends…
 
Will we fight off the infection – will the fever peak and pass?
We cannot know the answer, we can only pray and hope.
Is there treatment for the illness – are there those, who know the cure?
We do not know the answers – we can only try to cope.
   
But the toll it takes is heavy – on us humans and the rest.
So I write again of madness, of the all-devouring kind,
That has coupled fierce with money and has made the evil spawn
That is eating up the planet and is feeding on the Mind.
 
I have seen him in a vision, as he went about his task.
For this monster has a mission, as its devotees may know.
And the purpose of this being?  That’s a question we may ask,
As the answer may be screeching in the demon-winds that blow.
   
2014  October 31st, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York 
 

Dua, Insaan Ko–दुआ, इनसान को (A Prayer – to Mortals)

  
The Hindi-Urdu text below (in Devanagari script) is followed by a loose translation into English and then by a transcription into Roman.  As my Hindi and Urdu are both weak, any corrections or suggestions would be welcome.  -- Arjun

----------------------------------------------   
  
दुआ, इनसान को
 
इस्लामियत को ढूंढ़ते हुए,
इन्सानियत को खोना मत।
 
हिन्दुत्व को गढ़ते हुए,
मानव-धर्म को तोड़ना मत।
 
यहोवा या यीशु के नाम से,
खून-खराबी करना मत।
 
पैसे या नाम का धन्धा मे,
सचाई और दिल को भूलना मत।
 
शनिवार, २५ अक्टूबर २०१४ ईस्वी
ब्रुकलिन, न्यूयॉर्क
  
----------------------------------------------
   
A Prayer – to Mortals
 
In search of an Islamic state,
Do not, a being’s rights, negate.
 
With Aryan yearnings in your mind,
You still have reason to be kind.
  
In the name of Yahweh or of Jesus,
With murderous evil, do not smite us.
 
To fame or fortune, while en route,
Remember still the heart – and truth.
   
2014  October 25th, Sat.
(translated November 1st, Sat.)
Brooklyn, New York

----------------------------------------------  
  
Dua, Insaan Ko
  
Islaamiyat ko d'huun'r'hte hue,
insaaniyat ko khona mat.

Hindutva ko gar'hte hue,
maanav-dharm ko tor'na mat.
  
Yehova ya yiixu ke naam se,
khuun-kharaabi karna mat.

Paise ya naam ka dhandha me,
sacaai aur dil ko bhuulna mat.
      
xanivaar, 25 akt'ubar 2014 iisvi.
bruklin, nyu yo`rk
  

Yet More Advice

Yet More Advice
     
 (There are references, in parts, to the most recent horrific events in Egypt.  Remembering all the sacrifice and hope of the "Arab Spring", let us hope that courage, reason, humanity, sober idealism and sanity prevail over fear, irrationality, brutality, cynicism and insanity. )
                                                     
If you find a vassal country takes a path that you dislike,
It's your duty to divert it, with a bold preemptive strike.

But when bleeding troops and money, you had better think of ways,
By which to wield your influence.  A little thinking pays.

You can call for free elections and for freedom of the press.
If you don't like who's elected, push for freedom to repress.

And some advice to vassals too – don't take your boss for granted.
They'll let you hang tomorrow – if circumstance demands it.

So if you are the rulers there, depend not on what's distant.
Depend instead on power raw, and seize the precious instant.

If you've ruled a nation long enough (being really who's in charge),
You know that to retain it, there are duties to discharge.

Elections can be dangerous, the people then have say.
The military then must move – express a forceful “Nay!”

You can engineer conditions that will have them up in arms –
The populace – and those who are dependent on your alms...

You can tolerate the ones who're hip, and even spoon them honey,
But you've got to draw the line with those, who're sniffing for the money.

If you buy your suits in London and your wine is shipped from France,
You can't brook interruptions in your dinner or your dance.

Your children are at Stanford, and you've got to pay the fees.
So there's little choice, except to promptly deal with the disease.

The masses, you've contempt for – for they're backward and they're vile.
Can you let them enter in your rooms – and settings then defile?

They are talking of an Allah, and who knows where that may lead?
There are demons there in plenty, who on such as you may feed.

And if they taste of power, then it's curtains for your crowd.
It's then Paris, Rome or London.  But you mustn't say this loud...

For your fiefdom, it is there, where the Nile is flowing broad,
Where the Pharaohs and the Ptolemies had ruled, with spear and sword...

It's best to do it short and sharp, to cow them with your terror,
For laxity in this regard would be a serious error.

And if the slaughter continues – no matter, be resolved.
Such things will be forgotten, once you've got the problems solved.

It doesn't matter who you are – your politics, I mean.
It's power – that's what matters, and the rest becomes a sheen.

You can be a bearded mullah, wear a yarmulke or not,
But if you once buy into power, then you'll leave the rest to rot.

There are those who look to oracles, or pray to the divine,
But in politics, no miracles can build for you a spine.

So you've got to bite that bullet – with its taste and smell of grease.
You've got to swallow then your spit and pull that trigger –  please!

Astrologers may tempt you, you can have your palms be read,
But when it comes to enemies, you'd better have them dead.

There are graves enough for ditherers, or those who were uncertain,
It's better to be murderers, than ousted, that is certain.

The masses may be restive, but let's understand this truth:
They'll bear your rule in silence, if you show you're lacking ruth.

But know the ones to squeeze and also know the ones to culture.
The spoils of war and peace are used, to loyal vassals nurture.

Pay tributes to the ones above, from those below, get same.
In finance, as in bedrooms, there's no place or point in shame.

You've got to have that instinct for subservience to power.
Today it is the U.S.A., tomorrow's another's hour.

That boss you had for many years is aging now, you see.
It's time to cultivate the one, who's itching, boss to be.

With power, as with money.  And the two may go together,
Or for a while may wander, till they reach their ends of tether.

You can shelter in a Dilli, in a Tokyo or Beijing,
But when you feel them quiver, then to old New York take wing.

And if Washington is shaking, then you'd better look around.
Whatever be your politics, let your finances be sound.

There are those who see the world as did the Buddha or the Jinas,
But the others see a chance to lose – or grasp and be the winners.

So there's no place for scruples or a doleful frame of mind.
Why seek for liberation, when your fortune, you can find?

The Century of Labor's past – another one is here.
It's time for entrepreneurship and casting off of fear.

Divisions sow, of every type.  It's best when they're divided.
The working class consists of sheep – by wolves of cunning herded.

Take the best of East and West and North and South – amalgamate!
Then you needn't fear a debacle, as in the Watergate.

You could kowtow to a Pinochet, a Reagan or a Mao,
But in dealing with the obstacles, can you follow still the Tao?

Pay obeisance then to Mammon – and to Lakshmi and Ganesha,
So you can say, "...diversified, by every kind of measure...".

****** 
  
You should wipe out now the Islamists (the moderates as well),
And label all as terrorists.  And some may see and tell.

How many will be listening?  There are interests at stake!
The sleepers, they will sleep through it. A scattered few may wake.

But make the price of waking steep.  And show them that you can,
With prison, maiming, murder and, of course, the legal ban.

The courts bow down to power, as the Pharaoh wields the sun.
And power comes, as Mao had said, from the barrel of a gun.

So show them all what terror is.  Riyadh will then applaud.
And from the Gulf will come support, to fire your flaming sword.

The Islamists have had their use.  Now use them as a ruse
To gain control – and then proceed, to ticking bombs defuse.

For after you have dealt with them, or even well before,
With the Communists and Socialists, you should settle full you score.

For vermin such, the time has come, to end their numbered days!
And all who matter will be glad, when you, their kind, erase.

So courage, then, oh generals!  The world relies on you!
Your Egypt will be prosperous.  And so, of course, will you!

And those who dither, from their doubts, will surely see the dawn.
They've interests – and so will come, with F16's, to fawn.

2013 August 16th Fri. & 17th, Sat.
(last 10 couplets added Aug. 19th, Mon.)
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn

More Advice

Advice
 

Cadences – Part I

Cadences – Part I  
         
A summer sky of blue and glowing white,
An evening breeze, with waving leaves – and I
Am as fulfilled or more, as those with wealth,
Who'd rarely find, in these, their hearts' content.

How simple are our basic needs, and yet
We find ourselves entrapped.  The endless race
To nowhere picks up speed, or faltering,
Creates conditions for yet more of stress.

So autumn, with its drifting leaves, will see
The students and their teachers crawl to schools,
And there, their labors, which could be of love,
Will turn to joyless tasks, as madness rules.

Then winter – with its chilling winds and snows,
A season for reflection and reserve,
But subject now to more of lunacy,
With silent solstice turned to loud bazaar.

And spring will come, with all its hope and lust –
And even these, in turn, will turn to dust,
Unless, perhaps, as pole inclines to sun,
Our souls awake – and nightmares end at last.

The seasons come and go – and each delights
If only we would dance with seasons' flow.
But how can we, until we're frenzy-free?
We then can move in cadence joyful, slow.

The drums of war, the pipes of finance sound,
As masses march yet faster to their deaths.
Oh pause, we say, and see the ocean, sky,
The land with all its beings...  Question why.

2013 August 6th, Tue. Evening
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn

The Way It Is

The Way It Is

The world is full of madness, cruelties –
And people seem oblivious and proceed.
They pay attention to the petty things
But either can't or will not see beyond.

It may be blindness, callousness or fear,
Necessity or duties that prevent
Our seeing or our acting as we would
If eyes and conscience stayed in good repair.

We can't be saints or martyrs, every one,
But if the ones, who know the right from wrong,
Are silent, then the ones, who don't, prevail.
The sins excused become “the way it is”.

How hard it is to go against the flow,
To speak or act, when others will not join.
The emperor parades without his clothes,
And “adults” have the “sense” to smile and bow.

How many zealots have we suffered from,
Jihads, crusades and endless “wars against”,
Exterminations of the ones who're meek,
Intimidations of the ones who speak?

Competing with the zealot is the lord,
Who thrives from greed, corruption, violence,
Whose hired thugs extract the pound of flesh –
Who yet assumes, with time, the throne “divine”.

Oh pity us, this wretched human race,
That's cannibal and feeds upon itself.
Our wolves can prey at leisure on our sheep,
Who strive to see that errant ones obey.

And yet, amidst the cruel madness, see,
There still are islands left of sanity.
There's duty, love and silent sacrifice.
There's kindness left – and there's sincerity.

For every ten, who say, “That's how it is.”
There's one, who says, “That's not how it should be.”
For every one, who seeks for fame and wealth,
We've ten, who labor cheap and namelessly.

2013 May 30th, Thu.
Brooklyn