On Schools and Fools-As Satan Sings

On Schools and Fools /
   As Satan Sings
 
There is no Satan, setting snares,
Or “down below, in hell”.
That Satan is among us, in
Our hearts, as we can tell,
Exploiting all our frailties
With stories he can sell.
 
******
 
We humans, we are clever! We
Aspire to be as gods.
And at my age, we celebrate
At beating, still, the odds,
As beatings harsh are handed out—
And often still with rods.
 
In churches, mosques and mandirs, humans  ¹
Offer gods their things
Of substance or of spirit, while
They dream of angels’ wings—
As Mammon smiles at balance sheets
And Satan softly sings—
 
And often not so quietly,
As planes and cannons roar
And beings burn and bombs explode,
With science turned to whore—
And we can hear then Satan's song
And know that there’ll be more.
 
****** 
 
It would be wrong to just pretend
There was once a golden age,
When virtue ruled us humans, who
Were then as kind and sage
As Buddhas. This was never so.
We had vice at every stage—
 
And some were strong and others weak.
The stronger ruled the others—
Even in the places where
We tended fathers, mothers
When these were old or ailing and
Hailed all as “sisters, brothers”.
 
So there was liberation too
When villages were left
For cities, where we learned the truths
Of which we’d been bereft.
In cities, cultures interact—
And schooling too has heft.
 
******
 
We go to school and there we learn
To read and write and add—
And these are surely needed for
The modern lass or lad,
But who will guide, within the home,
Their sense of good and bad?
 
It’s there within us, yet in some
Who’ve learned of “yours and mine”
And daily act upon that sense,
It slow to rise and shine.
They only think about themselves
And feel that this is fine.
 
We learn, from watching others, more
Then hearing what they say.
If parents both are working or
Are absent through the day,
Then who will children learn from, in
The matters crucial, pray?
 
******
 
The teacher comes, the teacher goes.
The period starts and ends—
The term or school-year too, in time,
And yet, the seer pretends
That this is all that children need—
To learn—and this, defends.
 
In modern times, alas, we see
That content too, is slighted.
“It’s process! That is all that counts.”
Has been the cry, benighted.
Yet content too must still be crammed
At a pace that leaves us blighted.
 
There is a place, of course, for school—
In Ranchi as in Rome—
As there’s a place for the Internet
That has shoved aside the tome.
But tell me, truly, can a school
Replace, in whole, a home?
 
******
 
“It takes a village”, it was said,
“To educate a child.”
In Africa—and everywhere—
This wisdom, deep yet mild,
Was practiced—yet, in later times,
It came to be reviled.
 
And why? Because the villages
Were emptied—and the towns
Were crowded full—and townsfolk saw
The villagers as clowns.
And soon enough, the parents yielded
Offspring to the crowns.
 
Crowns? The ones of empires—those
With thrones and then with banks.
So children line up now, at schools,
As soldiers do—and tanks—
In peace—that never lasts for long—
And war—with all our thanks!
 
******
 
For soldiers fight and die, so we
Can go to school and learn
Those useful things, so factories
And offices can turn
Out all the stuff and services—
As fields and forests burn.
 
But right and wrong? We hear of these
In speeches, not in schools.
They’re put to use by clever men—
And women—used as tools—
To make us work—and buy—and pay
Our taxes—since we’re fools.
 
So parents slave to pay the bills
Or even to survive,
With hours long and lethal stress
That jointly can deprive
Them each of sleep and peace of mind.
So how can children thrive?
 
******
 
Fools? Perhaps I’ve overstepped—
Or overstated things.
Our words can take us far away,
As phrases take on wings.
So cleverness can lead us all
To hell, as Satan sings.
 
We should not have the schools dictate,
To children, right and wrong.
It’s back within the village calm,
And not the city’s throng,
That we should seek the quiet that
Can stop the Satan-song.
 
But there isn’t land enough that’s left
To farm, for all of us—
And agribusiness feeds us all
And frees us from the fuss
And labor of the fields, so we
Advance—as humans must!
 
******
 
“Salute! Salute the flag”, we’re told,
“And sing the anthem loud!”
Oh nation great, of thee I sing
And it’s of thee I’m proud!
The “nation” now competes with “gods”
And draws the biggest crowd.
 
The strongman grins and shakes his fist.
He jabs, with force, the air.
He’s now the hero of the crowd.
For rants, he has a flair.
A demon has been found! The blame
Is shifted. There’s the snare.
 
We fall for it, because we’re fools,
Forgetting right and wrong.
So “history” is handled well
To please, again, the throng.
No deeper, please! Nor wider!
Let the Satan sing his song.
 
******
 
There is no Satan, setting snares,
Or “down below, in hell”.
That Satan is among us, in
Our hearts, as we can tell,
Exploiting all our frailties
With stories he can sell.
 
2022 September 27^th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York
 
Notes
1.      mandir: Hindu temple
 

The Stories That We're Told

The Stories That We're Told

The stories that we're told omit
the most important things.
So we believe in devils and
in angels who have wings.

So Lucifer had fallen, since
he’d dared to irk the Lord
and Gabriel had smitten all
of Egypt with his sword.

But what is truth and what is myth,
in even things mundane,
depends on whether you're a Gaul,
a Roman or a Dane.

If Hindus were to follow what
Arjuna was advised,
whatever's left of principle
might then be compromised.

So also did Muhammad say
so many things, in turn,
that if we followed blindly, we
might all together burn.

But saying things like this will land
us quickly deep in trouble—
as also if we prick, by chance,
a nation's sainted bubble.

And most of all, if we attempt
to stand in Empire's way,
we'll each be told that we are mad
and then be hauled away.

2017 April 11th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York
  
https://www.facebook.com/arjun.janah/posts/10154534985165950 
 

Who Profits?

             
Who Profits?
        
In the mathematics, that we learned at school,
We could be sure that two-plus-two was four,
And when we measured, in the physics lab,
The strength of “g”, we found that it was so.

But in our lives, and even more in what
We read and hear – and even watch on-screen,
There seems far less of certainty.  Indeed,
We couple true and false in ways obscene.

How simple is the sly and easy lie,
How facile are the ones that lead to war!
Our falsehoods, oft repeated, stand as truth.
Homo mendax – that is who we are.

So how can we then disentangle facts
From all the myths in which they tangled lie?
I do not know, but this I surely do –
For every falsehood, there's a reason why.

And for the sake of brevity, let's say,
Before believing what we haven't seen,
“Who profits from this 'fact' and our belief?”
Let's ask – so we're not led to where we've been.

But should we then be cynics in all things?
The things we see for selves, before our eyes,
We can believe, if we have eyes to see.
All else is suspect, often being lies.

But then, there's heart, which now is ridiculed.
And some have hardened theirs and some have not.
With senses, heart and logic we proceed.
For in the end, that's all that we have got.

But as we learn yet more disturbing facts,
For which we often have no strength or time,
The picture takes a shape we draw ourselves,
That's closer to the truth than all my rhyme.

2013 December 15th, Sun.
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn
  

Benediction (On Muns and Hex)

          
Benediction (On Muns and Hex)
   
When we were young, we were admonished,

By priests at school:  we would be punished

If we indulged in certain pleasures

That led to spillage of our treasures.

     

“A salmon mates – and having mated,

Starts to die, for this is fated.

To salmon, humans are related.

If you’ve had sex, you’ll be negated.”

So yogis sought to save their seed,

And so, to vital engines feed,

In hopes that this would give them strength,

And lives of more-than-usual length.

******

  

So priests and pundits warned, in schools,

That such indulgence was for fools –

That those, with carnal pleasures sated,

To exits, quick, were relegated.

But what of those, who weren’t sinners,

Who prayed before they started dinners –

Those nuns, whose entrances were gated,

Who chastely, for their Lord, had waited?

Would nuns, upon this planet, linger –

Who hadn’t even known the finger,

And only in their dreams had dated –

Till they, with Him, their Lord, had mated?

******

    

But since we know that nuns do die,

Could their chasteness be a lie?

Could it be, though some resisted,

From pleasures banned, they’ve not desisted?

But hark!  As I am penning verses,

I hear the Host-in-Heaven’s curses.

These lines, on which I have persisted,

Have made me, on a memo, listed.

“Re.” it says, “the agitators

Who seek to know if nuns are maters,

With men or selves, the Lord insisted –

‘Target action!’   Team has missed it.”

******

    

But while I’m waiting for the lightning,

Which really isn’t all that frightening,

I’ve begun to question whether,

To truth, these teachings have a tether.

Could each, perhaps, live slightly longer –

And even wax a little stronger,

If she partook of sizzling spices,

Which sadly have been cast as vices?

So now, I’ve learned it’s all a fiction!

We all need more, not less, of friction,

Where it matters.  A nun’s addiction

Is, in truth, her benediction.

    

2013 December 14^th, Sat.

Bensonhurst, Brooklyn