Basics

Basics

 
Give me a man of a simple sort,
With an open heart and mind,
Who is free of schemes and of meaner thoughts,
With a soul that is pure and kind—

 
For he’ll gladden my heart and cleanse my soul

And turn me away from sin.
And this is true for a woman too 
In every land that I’m in.

 
We live in a world that is full of woes
That are born out of greed and hate,
So we need such men and such women too,
Before it is far too late.

******

 
Where caring and courage both are alive—
There, I will send my heart.
Where one or both have disappeared,
From there, we should all depart.

 

****** 

But if we are stuck in a land we loved
That is blighted by hate and fear,
We should think of the men and women—those 
Who had made it so special and dear.

 
I bow to the man of a simple sort
And a woman, too, of the kind—
For they are the salt of the earth—the best
That I ever could hope to find.

I will not ask of their tongue or faith

Or the land in which they were born,

Except to bond and to hear and talk

With a heart that is free of scorn.

 

2025, April 20th, Sun.
Berkeley, California 
 

Rounds

 

Rounds

The skies of sunlit days have blues and whites

That give us cause to simply breathe and be.

The skies of moonless nights are dark, with lights

As distant as unaided eyes can see.

*******

There comes the dawn—that rising sun again—

And then the morning, noon, and afternoon,

And then the dusk—and then that night again,

Until the time that often comes too soon—

Or just in time for some, for others late,

When silently we’re told it’s time to end

The rounds that mark our lives and yield to fate—

To start the sleep that then will never end.

We know what waits us, yet we live as though

The day that is a life will be as bright,

As life proceeds, as in its fullest glow—

Until we see its evening turn to night.

******

******

How many rounds before, how many after

The current round of hours, of seasons, years?

How many smiles, how much of merry laughter?

How much of pain, how many more of tears?

****** 

Our lives are threaded through with darkness, light—

With joy and sorrow, pleasure braiding pain.

And so we weep and so we know delight—

As hunger makes us savor food again.

A life to live—and then to leave—ah yes—

With eyes that saw the sun and moon and stars,

With rounds enlivened by the human mess

But blighted sore by lies and endless wars!

So just as night and day are needed, both,

So also might be all our joy and grief—

Like sleep and waking, diligence and sloth,

Like thirst and quenching, reason and belief.

2025, April 11th, Fri.

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 

To See Ourselves in Others

 
To See Ourselves in Others
 
We humans have abilities, remarkable indeed,
And some are quite admirable—of thinking, word, and deed—
And others, though amajing, may leave us quite perplexed
And even, when encountered first, so maddeningly vexed
That only introspection might, in course of time, allow
An insight into origins—including why and how
Behaviors, strange, and attitudes emerged and then prevailed
That still persist, in most of us, that might appear derailed—
Divorced from justice, empathy—and even reason, sense—
Controlling much of how we feel and think and act. The whence 
And wherefore of this human world cannot, indeed, be known
Until we see and understand the things that we disown
In selves and those we see as ours, ascribing these to others
We see as simply alien, although they’re born of mothers
And like us, have emotions, thoughts, experience pain and pleasure,
And yet are seen as different, by every human measure.
 
To see ourselves in others, and others in ourselves
Is often sadly lacking, amidst our clans of elves
With all our seeming magic and all our scheming ways, 
And all our sights and blindnesses that guide us through our days.
 
2025 February 27, Thu.
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

Ki ko'ra jae-কি করা যায়?

কি করা যায়?

এমন যুগ কি কখনো ছিলো—

আছে কি কোনো দেশ—

যখন, যেখানে শান্তির সাথে 

সুবাদ ছিলো, বেশ? 

তা জানি না, তা জানি না—

হয়তো কামনা—তবে 

এটুকু জানি, মানবজাতির 

এ পথে অপায় হবে। 

এখনো আকাশে সূর্য-তারা, 

এখনো নদীতে ঢেউ—

বাহিরে-অন্তরে জোয়ার-ভাটা। 

রেখেছে মনে কি কেউ?

****** 

গরিব হলে, এসে যায় না 

ধর্ম তোমার কি।

জুতো লাথি খেতে হবে, 

শুনতে হবে ‘ছিঃ!’ 

প্রতি যুগে একই দশা, 

প্রতি দেশেও তাই। 

মানুষ জাতির এই প্রণালী 

সর্বগত, ভাই। 

মানুষের যা গুণ বা ত্রুটি—

যেমন তোমার, আমার—

নেই কো যুগের, দলের শুধু। 

রয়েছে, সদা, সবার।

****** 

‘উঁচু’, ‘নিচু’, ‘আমার’, ‘তোমার’—

চলছে চারিদিকে। 

তাই সেদিনের লাল পতাকার 

রং হয়েছে ফিকে। 

কি করা যায়, এমন হালে, 

মাথা চুলকিয়ে ভাবি। 

এই কারাগার থেকে খালাস

 চেয়েও পাই না চাবি। 

বাকি সবাই যাই বা করুক, 

ফুটপাতে বা রথে, 

চলবো ধীরে, বিবেক মেনে, 

শান্ত আপন পথে।

****** 

নিজের কাজে, কথায়, লেখায় 

করবো, যত পারি। 

বন্ধু-স্বজন মানবে না, তাও 

করবো না গো আড়ি। 

বলবো খুলে বুকে যেটা 

আসে, যদিও জানি 

পাত্তা দেওয়ার লোকের অভাব।

বাস্তবতা মানি। 

সবাই জেগে উঠবে কবে, 

যোগ দেবে মূল কাজে—

তা জানি না। বাজাই বাঁশি, 

সুর যদিও বাজে।

******

স্থানের সাথে সুর মেলেনা, 

যুগের সাথে ছন্দ। 

কি করা যায়, তা জানি না। 

জেলের দুয়ার বন্ধ। 

সবাই মিলে গাইবে কবে 

নদীর, ক্ষেতের গান? 

আসবে ফিরে কখন দেহে 

জোয়ার-ভাটার টান? 

তা জানি না, তা জানি না। 

গাইছি নিজের সুরে। 

গাইবো জোরে, গাইবো মৃদু,

গানেই যাবো উড়ে।

মঙ্গলবার, ১৪ জানুয়ারি, ২০২৫ 

বার্ক্লি, কালিফোর্নিয়া 

A~dhar-alo-আঁধার-আলো

 

আঁধার-আলো

কত কঠোর, নিষ্ঠুর, হিংস্র, হায়— 

এই মানব জাতি, 

যার কীর্তি দেখে কান্না আসে, 

বুক ভরে যায় ব্যথায়, 

মুখের বাণী বেরোয় না গো, 

দিন হয়ে যায় কালো!

তাও যে দয়া-মায়া, সাহস। 

খাটছে একই জাতি, 

করছে আদর, করছে পালন, 

দিচ্ছে জীবন, সেবায়। 

দুঃখ, পীড়ার মাঝেও আশা, 

ঘোর আঁধারেও আলো।

শুক্রবার, ৩ জানুয়ারি, ২০২৫ খ্রি.

বার্ক্লি, কালিফর্নিয়া 

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

Darkness and Light

How harsh, cruel, violent, alas— 

This human species, 

Whose deeds bring tears to the eyes!

The heart is filled with pain;

The words do not come out of the mouth;

The day becomes black.

And yet, what kindness, love, courage!

The same species is laboring, 

Cherishing, nurturing, 

Giving lives in service. 

Hope in the midst of sorrow and pain;

Light in the deepest darkness.

2025 Jan 3, Fri.

Berkeley, California

English version via Google Translate,

(very lightly edited for punctuation, etc.)

Best and Worst

 

Best and Worst
 
We are blinded by hatred; we are blinded by greed.
We are blinded by what we've been taught.
We are swift in our anger, slow in our love.
Our minds--they are sold and are bought.  
 
The worst of the west, the worst of the east,
And the worst of the north and the south
Are the things that we take, from our births to our graves,
As burdens on paths that we walk. 
 
The best of the west, the best of the east, 
And the best of the north and the south
Are forgotten, my friends, as we near to our ends,
In our thought, in our action, our talk...
 
Let us see what is worst, let us find what is best, 
Let us drop then our weights and our chains.
Let us find then the peace and the wisdom we need,
And the light on the path that sustains.
 
2024 Nov. 30
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 

Danob-01-দানব-০১-Demon-01

  
দানব-০১
 
হে হতভাগা প্রজাতি, 
নির্লজ, নিষ্ঠুর, বিনাশী, 
ব্যথার অস্ত্রে, ভয়ের শাস্ত্রে, 
নরকের জল্লাদ বাসী!
 
নিজেকে 'মানব' বলেও, 
মানবিকতার করেছো ক্ষয়।
গর্বে, ছলনে, দানবের বেশে,
দানবিকতায় পেয়েছো জয়।
 
১৪-১৫ অক্টোবর, ২০২৪ খ্রি.
বার্ক্লি, কালিফোর্নিয়া

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

Monster-01 (Google's translation, lightly edited)

   

O wretched species, 

Shameless, cruel, destructive--

With weapons of pain, with scriptures of fear, 

The executioner of hell!

   

While calling yourself 'human', 

You have destroyed humanity.

In pride, in guile, in monster-guise,

You have won by your monstrosity.

   

14-15 October, 2024

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
 

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
.

Rat pohalo-রাত পোহালো

 
রাত পোহালো
.
রাত পোহালো। প্রথম আলোয়,
ঘুম ভেঙ্গেছে মোর। 
জানালা দিয়ে বাইরে দেখি— 
কুয়াশা ভরা ভোর।
.
ছোট্ট পাখির ডাক শোনা যায়। 
মানবো আহবান। 
ঘরের থেকে বেরিয়ে আমি 
ক’রবো প্রাতের পান।
.
মুখটা ধুয়ে, চটিটা পড়ে, 
বেরই ভোর সকালে।
এই স্মৃতিটা আসলো ফিরে, 
শুষ্ক বৃদ্ধকালে।
.
রক্ত ঢেলে সূর্য ওঠে,
ক্রমশ হয় স্বর্ণ। 
রবির আলোর ছোঁয়ায় জ্বলে 
নারীর মুখের বর্ণ।
.
রাতের শিশির দিনের রোদে 
হচ্ছে ক্রমে হাওয়া। 
ফুলের পাপড়ি দুলছে খুলে। 
ভৃঙ্গের আসা-যাওয়া।
.
এত বছর বাদেও আবার 
আসছে ফিরে স্মৃতি। 
ঋতুর যেমন চক্র, তেমন 
মনের আপন রীতি।
.
বুধবার, ১৭ এপ্রিল, 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

 

Buker bhalobaxa-বুকের ভালবাসা

 

বুকের ভালবাসা

রাজ্য, রাষ্ট্র আসে, যায়, 

বেলার ছায়ার মত— 

যুদ্ধ, বিবাদ, জয়, পরাজয়, 

হত্যাকাণ্ড যত।

দিনের সূর্য ওঠে, নামে, 

রাতের চন্দ্র তারা—

জোয়ার-ভাটায় দিন কেটে যায়,  

ঋতু, বছর সারা।

কত কান্না, কত হাসি, 

কত দুঃখ, সুখ—

জন্ম-জীবন-মরণ মালায় 

কোটি কোটি মুখ।

এই জীবনের স্মৃতি আসে—

যেনো গতকাল। 

দেখতে দেখতে দিন চলে যায়— 

এই আমাদের হাল।

ফুলের গন্ধ, সাঁঝের ছায়া, 

দিন-দুপুরের আলো। 

জলের শব্দ, গাছের দোলন, 

বুকের বাসা, ভালো।

 

শনিবার, ৩০ মার্চ, ২০২৪ খ্রি.

 বার্ক্লি, ক্যালিফর্নিয়া.

Music?

 
Music?
 
Does music tell us of a culture’s soul? 
If so, then ours is torn and wracked indeed
With rage, frustration—lacking bliss and peace,
Reflecting, darkly, worlds of fear and greed.
If music turns to a tool for torture, then 
What chance is there for healing, born of Zen?
 
Our music once had grace, with Nature's sounds,
The moods of seasons and of times of day.
These touched the heart and gently moved the soul,
And so returned us towards the peaceful way.
But now, of all of this, there's little trace.
Its guns and pistons lead away from grace. 
 
We should not rush to blame the music. It
Is but a mirror of the world we've built.
We’re disconnected from the rest of life—
Absorbed in self, avoiding silence, guilt. 
And so we deafen ears and dazzle eyes. 
Our soul's disturbance speaks in music’s guise.
 
2024 March 6th, Wed.
Berkeley, California
 

Conscience and Choice / No Karma-Phala

 
Conscience and Choice / No Karma-Phala

There is no punishment, reward—
In this life or another.
There is no heaven that awaits
The ones who do what’s right.
There is no hell in which we’ll burn 
For doing what is wrong.

There are no gods with registers
Observing what we do.
There are no records being kept
Of actions good and bad.

******

The predator can kill its prey,
The parasite its host.
No ethics or morality
Constrains our human wars.
There is no nation on this Earth
Whose hands are free of blood. 

The ones with wealth and power make
The laws by which we’re ruled.
Our histories are filled with lies.
The news we get is false. 

******

So is there wrong? And is there right?
And is there good and bad?
There is a conscience—that is heard
Or not—that tells us this.
It channels our capacities
For quiet, inner sight.

It’s empathy and fairness—
That say what’s right and wrong.
And some extend their circles
And others squeeze these tight.

******

We can choose to seek for justice
For others, not just selves.
We can choose to practice kindness
Towards all that lives and feels.
We can listen more to conscience
And do what soothes and heals.

It’s not for fear of punishment
Or hope for some reward
One seeks the path of justice
And keeps an open heart.

****** 

There is a choice for each of us
To make at every time.
At times, the choice is difficult
And pain may well result
From choosing what the conscience
May whisper to the heart.

Do not expect that others 
Will sympathize or help.
We can listen to the others—
But do what conscience says. 

2023 November 30th, Thu.
Berkeley, California

 

Gautam Jain's Reverser

Gautam Jain’s Reverser

One Gautam Jain, with wars disgusted,
Did once invent a strange device
That drew upon the Earth’s rotation—
Along with lentils, served with rice.

And when that fine machine was started,
It monitored, with ease, the world,
Detecting, through its deep inspection,
Each and every object hurled

At speeds beyond the chosen setting
Gautam Jain had set it at—
Speeds that signaled swift destruction—
Far beyond what ball and bat

Could ever reach to—though, more truly,
Those like me have merely guessed
At what Gautam had created,
Knowing things he knew of best.

‘Momentum’, ‘rate of change’, and ‘jeera’… \1
Were things he spoke of (some invented). 
The few who understood him nodded,
Along with those who just pretended. 

****** 

This wonderful device, of genius—
This thing that Gautam Jain had made—
Was ending (so we hoped) our mayhem—
Bringing peace, for which we’d prayed!

It detected man-made fires,
Explosions starting, near and far;
Reversed the speeding objects’ motions,
Quenched the fires—and ended war!

Conflagrations, used for arson,
Blasts gigantic, meant to shatter,
Snagged at targets, were transported
Back to strike at each attacker!

Gautam Jain, through wits and labors,
Did achieve this great success.
He called this thing “The Great Reverser”,
Hoping it would end our mess.

It seemed to us that this invention
Might perhaps bring peace, at last,
And also cure our constant racing—
By slowing all that moved too fast.

****** 

But then, some devious, scheming humans
Found a way to turn it ‘round!
And so we see this dire destruction
That never ceases to astound.

On observing his invention
Turned around, our Gautam Jain
Cried, “Alas! The Earth’s rotation,
Rice, and lentils—all in vain!”

Quite unable, then, to bear this,
Gautam whispered to his wife,
“Though this act might grieve you sorely,
I must surely end my life!”

Gautam’s wife (whose name escapes me)
Cried out loud on hearing this.
“Surely, dear, the Earth’s rotation, 
Rice, plus lentils—could not miss?

“But seeing that some twisted humans
Once again have thwarted peace,
Could the yearly revolution
Be, perhaps, the missing piece?”

******

“Joined with sabzi and with roti, \2,3
This might thwart the evil ones.
Nothing surely beats chapaati! \4
That’s on what my engine runs!”

Sage are women such as her,
Nameless though they're wont to be.
Simple, plain, in thoughts and words, 
They still have sight to deeply see.

Heartened by his wife’s devotion,
And by all her sage advice,
Gautam did a calculation,
And did away with daal and rice. \5

Turning, too, from turns diurnal,
Or even mensal, scorning fear,
He turned to turns of more duration—
Starting with the solar year.

Through the days and nights he labored—
Not just merely “dawn to dusk”.
He slept upon the office flooring,
Beating even Elon Musk!

******
 
Using wits, and using knowledge,
Deep, of chemistry and cooking,
Using physics, with masaala,… \6
Gautam went, for answers looking! 

“Did Gautam then achieve successes?”
You might ask. I do not know.
He well might still be at his labors.
Wish him well! I now must go.

I hear, afar, the planes that thunder
Where the sky is lit with flame.
On the nightly news, they’re saying,
“Gautam Jain’s the one to blame!”

By reversing his “Reverser”,
More of children now are burned.
But then, by being born, those children
Surely, such a fate, have earned.

Bless the ones that seek to slaughter;
Curse the ones that pine for peace.
Gautam Jain and his Reverser 
Are proof enough. I’ve said my piece.

2023 November 26th, Sun. 
Berkeley, California

Notes (translations of words from Hindi-Urdu)
1. jeera: cumin seed
2. sabzi: vegetable
3. roti: bread (usually unleavened, whole-wheat, flat and round)
4. chapaati: subcontinental roti made on a griddle
5. daal: lentil stew
6. masaala: spices

Boyhood in Kolkata

Boyhood in Kolkata
 
My childhood was untroubled. Calm in mind,
Though often ill in body, I absorbed,
As children do, the cultures all around—
The near ones more, the far ones less—and yet,
When still a child, I felt a growing sense
Of some detachment. I could see the plays
In which the humans seemed to act, in roles
With which they seemed to merge their inner selves.
And these, I sensed, were really all the same—
For humans, dogs and cats—and ants and trees.
 
For reasons still unclear to me, I had
Begun reflecting—perhaps when I was ill
And so alone, with time enough to think—
And being also lacking then in drives
For recognition, power or other things—
And seeing also, in the city’s mire,
How people suffered, while, above the streets,
The clouds rose high and sailed across the blue—
As seasons came and seasons went in turn—
As beings did, who acted out their plays.
 
2022 October 25^th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York