Grace-II

Grace-II 

He goes among the tribes in the forests.
He goes among the tribesmen in the hills.
He sees the things they make and what they do.
He gazes out from mountaintops. He sees
The mists that rise when touched by morning sun.
He tastes of beauty.  He is gentled by
The lullabies that mothers sing, by children's smiles.

He walks among the tribes in forests, hills.
And there he finds again his innocence.

But even in the city's wilderness,
Where strangers rush by strangers, shunning eyes,
He finds the ones who nurture innocence,
And those who still are gentle, slow and kind,
Who speak in cadences that hesitate,
Who turn to beauty in the ugliness,
Who still can breathe in calm and live in grace.

2016 February 2nd, Tue.

Brooklyn, New York

  

I Do Not Know the Words

 
I Do Not Know the Words

As I was walking on the street, a whisper came to me.
It seemed an eerie whispering, and so I paused to hear.
And then I heard a voice that called, as if across a sea.
And though it sounded distant, yet I also sensed it near.
 
“They know the words,” that whisper said, “so all can sing the song.
They know them well.  And one may lead, while others sing along.
But then another takes the lead. You’re hearing what they feel.
They share in song—and everything—where no one needs to steal.”

I heard that voice that seemed to be so far, so distant, yet
Was also there within my heart, as close as it could get.
“I do not know the words.” I said, “I do not know the words.
Do tell me what the meaning is. To me, they sing like birds.”

For I had heard a singing then, behind that eerie voice,
That rose and fell in cadences, as if a hidden sea
Were breaking on a distant shore, from which a random breeze
Had carried sound across the miles and so by chance to me.

But though I heard that singing still, that voice had ceased to speak.
And so I strained to hear that song, which still was distant, weak.
And as I listened, I discerned the words—they still were strange,
But slowly, one by one, they came within my hearing’s range.

And to this day, I hear that song.  It pulses in my mind.
For me, it's still a wondrous thing.  A passing spirit, kind,
Had given me this gentle song—that whispers, like the sea
May do, when quite a distance from the place we chance to be.

“I do not know the words.” I’d said, “I do not know the words.”
But I could hear the feeling in the song.  That still remains.
And though I’d said it sounded like the singing of the birds,
It sings to me of hopes and loves—of all our joys and pains.

“They know the words,” that voice had said, “so all can sing along.”
And one by one I hear them sing—I hear them sing that song.
They share in this, and everything, where no one needs to steal.
And though I’ve never met them, I can hear the way they feel.

And still I daily walk the streets, within the city’s sphere.
And there are times I’m full of grief, of madness and of fear.
But then I hear that song again, and so my heart is lifted.
I thank the spirit then for this—this drop of kindness, gifted.

I wish I understood the words.  But then, it doesn't matter.
For there's a place for words and there's another place for song.
And so at times the words we speak appear as useless chatter.
For those are times to listen—and perhaps to sing along.

2015 May 25th, Mon
“Memorial Day “ in the U.S.A.
Brooklyn, New York
     

Innocence

Innocence
  

Jaldhaka Valley, Kalimpong subdivision, Darjeeling district, W. Bengal
http://dooarsecoviillege.blogspot.com/2013/04/jhalong-beautiful-tourist-destinations.html 

 


















(You can click on an image to see it enlarged. Use the esc key
or click the X in the black border to get back to this post – if
you still want to...;-)

Samthar Plateau, Kalimpong
http://www.makemytrip.com/travel-guide/darjeeling/samthar-plateau-nature.html

While walking on a wooded path
beneath the Himalaya,
I came upon a cottage small
and glimpsed, within, a fire.
And there I paused, to chat awhile
and drink a bit of tea
that those within, of humble mien,
in kindness, offered me.
And then – I went my way, refreshed
from the warming drink and more...
And though I climbed those misty hills
as I had done before,
that little bit of friendliness,
that welcome sip of tea –
it altered all that I perceived
and even altered me.

And since that time, by currents moved,
I’ve wandered near and far
and seen the best and worst of men,
in peacetime and in war.
But still, that little interlude,
upon a mountain way,
remains with me, in memory,
in a corner, tucked away.
And when I’m down in spirits from
the things I witness, then
I reach within and so retrieve
that memory again.
And strangely, it restores my calm
and gives me back my sense –
that little chat, that sip of tea –
that taste of innocence.

2015 February 17th, Tue., 9:34 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
  

We'll Walk Together

  
We'll Walk Together
  

Rising moon above Lac-Temiscouata,  Quebec, Canada -- Dave Brosha
Source: http://davebrosha.tumblr.com/page/2

  





















       
    
  
    
We walked again together, you and I,
While looking at the darkening evening sky –
And when the moon was slowly rising, then
I kissed you, on your cheek, a soft goodbye.
  
And then the parting, with the wistful smile –
And then, the distance – mile on speeding mile,
And then – the calls, the letters and the hope
That I’d return, in just a little while...
 
How often was the tape rewound, replayed –
How often was the heart, by time, dismayed –
As weeks were turned to months and then to years –
As backs were bowed and heads and hopes were grayed...
 
And yet, the love, the faith, the trust remained –
The embers glowing as the darkness reigned.
We walked, apart, the paths that duties drew,
While yet as one, as Luna waxed and waned.

And so, despite the years we spent apart,
We stayed together, heart to beating heart.
‘Twas no romance, no ups and downs, surprises...
The paths we took were plain, unspoiled by art.
 
But even when I finally did return,
We found that hell in which the workers burn.
As veterans find, who’re traumatized by wars,
Our lives are ashes in the urban urn...
 
But seeing that the years have grown in pain,
I look to those that still perhaps remain,
And with the remnants of my will I say,
Our friendship lasts – and so, we’ll smile again.
 
We’ll walk again together, you and I,
While looking at the brightening eastern sky.
And as the sun is slowly rising, then
I’ll hold you close and hear you softly sigh...
 
2015 January 31st, Sat., 8:15 pm
(3rd-to-last & 2nd-to-last stanzas
added February 14th, Sat.)
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
 

ভোরের আশার গান (Sing to Me-Bangla)

  
Sing to Me  কবিতার অনুবাদ
 
The Song of the Hope of Dawn
 
ভোরের আশার গান
  
সরলতার গান কর আজ,
যাতে ধুয়ে যায় সব ময়লা, সব পাপ৷
রাতের কুয়াশা জাগে, ভোরের ডাকে –
গাও আজ সেই প্রভাতের সুন্দর সুরে৷
  
গাও আজ সেই প্রথম ভোরের গান,
যাতে মনে পড়ে ছোটোবেলার কথা৷
শুনে, আসে সুখ, জেগে ওঠে প্রান –
তাই তো দিলাম আশীর্বাদ৷

সেই পুরোনো দিনের গান, গাও গো আমায়,
যাতে সেই পুরোনো পথে চলি –
দেখি আবার তাদের, যারা গিয়েছে আগে –
তাদের সঙ্গে হাসি কাঁদি৷
  
বইছে, শোনো, হাওয়া – মৃদু, জলের কল্কল৷
গাও গো আমায় সেই কোমল গীতি৷
রাতের স্বপ্ন মেশে ভোরের সাথে –
গাও গো আমায় সেই সুখের আশার গান৷

শনিবার, ২৯এ নভেম্বর, ২০১৪ খৃঃ
(অনুবাদ শনিবার, ৬ ডিসেম্বর)
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউ য়র্ক  
   
Sing to Me  (English original)
http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/11/sing-to-me.html 
  
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Sing to Me kobitar onubad

The Song of the Hope of Dawn
  
Bhorer Axar Gan
   
Xo`rolotar gan ko`ro aj,
jate dhue jae xo`b mo`ela, xo`b pap.
Rater kuosha jage bhorer dake –
gao aj xei probhater xundor xure.
 
Gao aj xei prothom bhorer gan,
jate mone po`re chot’obe`lar ko`tha.
Xune, axe xukh, jege ot’he pran –
tai to dilam axirbad.
  
Xei purono diner gan, gao go amae,
jate xei purono po`the coli –
dekhi abar tader, jara gieche age –
tader xo`nge haxi ka~di.
  
Boiche xono haoa – xono jo`ler ko`lko`l.
Gao go amae xei komol giti.
Rater xo`pno mexe bhorer xathe –
Gao go amae xei xukher axar gan.
  
xonibar, 29-e no`vembo`r, 2014 khri.
(onubad, xonibar, 6 disembo`r)
bruklin, niu io`rk
  
Sing to Me  (English original)
http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/11/sing-to-me.html
   
  

Sing to Me

 
Sing to Me 

  

Early winter sky along Newfound Gap Road. © Kristina Plaas.
Great Smoky Mountains National Park

   


 
Sing to me the song of innocence,
so all the grime and sin are washed away.
And sing to me of what was beautiful –
of mists of morn that rose to greet the day.
  
Sing to me the song of morning-time,
so I remember days of youth again.
And let me bless you for the morning song
that gives me joy and makes me live again.
  
Oh sing to me the song of times now past,
so I may walk again upon those paths
and see again the ones who went before –
to smile and laugh and cry with them once more.
   
Sing to me the song of gentleness,
the song of rustling wind and tinkling water.
Sing to me the hopeful song of dawn,
when dreaming merges with the edge of morn.
       
2014 November 29th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
  
Robbie Robertson - Cherokee Morning Song
  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=smNaTGabsQI
  
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For a translation of Sing to Me into Bengali, please see:
  
http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/12/sing-to-me-bangla.html
 

The Chant

 
The Chant
 
I heard the singing in the dawn, when the mist had not yet risen,
And dreaming in my bed, there came to me a wondrous vision –
I saw a line of women, on a sylvan mountain way –
And even from afar, I saw that line appeared to sway.
  
For the women, they were singing and were dancing as they went –
I could hear them sweetly singing, and the song was heaven-sent –
I could see the women dancing as they walked upon their way –
As the mist was slowly rising and the twilight turned to day.
 
I heard the singing in my dream, and woke to find the light
Was spreading in the eastern sky, as day was chasing night…
And was I only dreaming – or had truly heard the chant
Of the women on the mountain?  I could answer – but I shan’t.
 
2014 October 27th, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York
 

A Song of Innocence

  
A Song of Innocence
 
While walking in the countryside, I heard a soft refrain.
I walked towards the source of it and then discerned the words.
I stood and listened to the song – a song of innocence.
And as I listened, with my heart, I felt a burden lift.
For in this world, where all seemed dark, I saw there still was light.
I listened till the song had end.  And then I walked away.
I wondered who the singer was.  I wonder still today.
 
2014 September 19th, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York
 

অন্ধকারে (O`ndhokare -- In the Darkness)

   
অন্ধকারে

মনে পড়ে সেদিনের কথা,
ছোটবেলায়ে শোনা গান৷
মেঘ ভেসে যায়, জোয়ার-ভাটা
জীবন-মরন চলে৷

জ্বালাই তবু, সন্ধ্যা-বেলায়ে,
প্রদীপটুকু, জান --
রাত্রি আসে, অন্ধকারে
কে যে কথা বলে৷
 
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In the Darkness

I remember the past, the songs I heard when small…
The clouds fly by, the tides of life and death go on…

And yet, at dusk, I light the little oil-lamp.
In the darkness, someone speaks.
 
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O`ndhokare

Mone po`re xediner ko`tha,
chot'obe`lae xona gan.
Megh bhexe jae, joar-bhat'a
jibo`n-mo`ron co`le.

Jalai tobu, xondhe be`lae,
prodip-t'uku, jan --
ratri axe, o`ndhokare
ke je ko`tha bo`le...

Mongol, 12-oi O`gast, 2014 kri.
Bruklin, Notun Io`rk

For a brief guide to the transcription used above, and 
to the pronunciation, please see the preface at:  
http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/02/bharot-xadhin-indias-freedom.html
   

Digha (1957-nagad)

    
This (below) is a prose-poem in Bangla (Bengali).  An English translation follows below the Bangla verses.
  
A brief explanation of the (phonetic) Roman transcription used here can be found at:

Bharot Xadhin 

http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/02/bharot-xadhin-indias-freedom.html
   
Digha used to be, in the 1950's, a small coastal town or fishing village in the southwestern Medinipur (Midnapore) district of Bengal, when it began to find favor, among the Bengali Babus of Calcutta, as a sea-side resort.  My paternal grandfather hailed from a small village in that district.  The more popular places, at the time, for those seeking the beaches, were further south, along the coast of Orissa (now Od'isha), with Puri and Gopalpur being common destinations.
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Digha (1957-nagad)
  

Digha beach, Medinipur, W. Bengal -- fishermen with net 
 image source: http://www.goibibo.com/travel-guide/east-midnapore/places-to-visit/digha-beach-in-west-bengal/1334/

   
Mone po`re chot'o be`lar ko`tha,
go`romer chut'ir xuru –
t'hakurda, t'hakurmar xo`nge
t'rene base core, dokkhine bhro`mon...

Dupurer khat'a rode, po~uchulam Dighae.
Jinix-po`ttor nie, he~t'e he~t'e, elam
chot'o e`k barite, jekhane thakbo kichudin...

Bikele, amra chot'ora agrohe gelam
xomudro-xo`ndhane...

Xal-bone, bali-d'haka po`th.
Tai die hat'lam, edik-odik dekhe.
Boichilo, xito`l jolo haoa.
D'al-pata gaichilo gan...
Dure, xomudrer gobhir go`rjon...

Kromoxe barlo xei aoaj.
Chot'o buke, jaglo bho`e.
Hat dhore, t'ipi-t'ipi coli...

Xal-boner xexe, xada balir d'hipi.
Kothao-kothao, bono ghax,
balir theke u~ki mere ut'he,
dulche bataxe.

D'hipir opor core, ho`tat dekhlam, xamne
je`no e`k birat' lo`mba de-al...

Po`re bujhlam, xet'a
axole xomudro-digon`nto-akax.

Bixxo`e, cokh bo`r'o-bo`r'o kore,
cup hoe dekhlam amra to`khon
je drixxo dekhini ko`khono age –
bixal Bo`ngopoxagor...

Tar tire, bhangche d'heu...
Xamne, ublono xada phe`na...
Dure, xari-xari d'heuer rekha
coleche dur digo`nte.

Bho`e-bho`e egulam amra.
Paer nice bheja bali,
xamuker t'ukro...
Chott'o ka~kra chut'che bege –
d'ube ge`lo, mone holo, phe`nar nice...

Nil akaxer nice, xomudrer d'aker paxe,
darie roilam to`khon.  D'heuer opor
d'ana mele urchilo pakhi...
Xomudrer tibro haoa
boichilo, kapor-camra cepe...

Go`romer chut'ir xurute,
Kolkatar bhir-dho~a-dhulo-mo`ela theke,
xei bixal xomudrer tire exe,
pou~chulam je`no, ei groho chere,
kono-e`k xo`rgo-jo`gote...

30-e Jun, 2014
Bruklin, No`bo Io`rk
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Digha (around 1957)

Digha beach, Medinipur, W. Bengal -- fishermen with net  
image source: http://www.goibibo.com/travel-guide/east-midnapore/places-to-visit/digha-beach-in-west-bengal/1334/

 
I remember childhood days –
at the start of the summer holidays –
traveling south, by train and bus,
with my grandad and grandma
on my father's side...

We reached Digha around noon, with the sun beating down.
Carrying our things, we walked till we reached
a small cottage, where we'd be staying for awhile...

Later, in the afternoon, we small ones
went looking, eagerly, for the sea...

We walked through the pine-woods –
along a sandy path, glancing all around.
A sea-breeze was blowing through the woods,
strumming on the branches and leaves, setting them to song.
In the distance, we heard the deep growling of the sea...

That ominous sound grew as we walked.
We felt afraid.
Holding hands, we tip-toed along...

At the end of the pine-woods – a dune of white sand.
Here and there, wild grasses,
peeking up from the sands,
dancing in the breeze...

Climbing up on the dune, we saw, of a sudden,
what appeared to be a great, long wall...

Later, we came to realize that this
was the sea, the horizon and the sky.

With eyes wide with amajement,
we silently looked out upon
what we had never seen before –
the vastness of the Bay of Bengal...

On its shore, the waves were breaking.
Near to us, the roiling white foam – 
In the rear, line upon line of waves,
reaching to the distant horizon...

Timidly, we walked towards the sea.
Below our feet – the wet sand,
pieces of sea-shells...
a tiny crab, racing along,
that seemed to drown beneath advancing foam...

We stood there on that beach,
beneath the sky, beside the calling sea,
as sea-birds spread their wings above the waves
and the strong sea-breeze blew against our clothes and skin.

At the start of the summer vacation,
escaping from the city's crowds, smoke, dust and filth,
arriving at the pristine shores of this vast sea,
it seemed that we had left our planet and
had reached a paradise.
   
2014, June 30th
Brooklyn, New York    
     

The Maiden of the Forest

  
The Maiden of the Forest
     
I had seen a lissome maiden
In a forest, so it seemed…
She was dancing, like a fairy.
Was she real or was she dreamed?

A maiden of the forest,
Of an old, forgotten tribe –
She was dancing in abandon,
Yet with grace I can’t describe.

She was dancing in the forest,
In the shade beneath the trees.
She was dancing in the shadows
That were dappled by the breeze.

Had I seen her in my dreaming,
In the darkness, when asleep?
Had I seen her in the daylight?
That’s a secret I shall keep.

For the things that I remember
Are that maiden and her dance.
Does it matter, where that forest?
Was it China, India, France?

If I knew, I wouldn’t tell you
Or my closest, bosom friend.
For I fear, if it’s discovered,
That an innocence will end…

She was dancing in the forest,
As they rustled in the breeze –
The leaves, that cast their shadows
On the ground beneath the trees.

And her feet were lightly tripping
On that dappled forest floor,
As I stood there, mutely watching
And not wanting less or more.

So I stood there, and I watched her,
As she swayed and as she spun –
As she danced across the shadows
And the shafts of slanting sun…

The sun was on her skin and hair,
On her shoulders, breasts and thighs…
It caught the gestures of her hands
And it glinted from her eyes…

But the darkness, it was nestled
At the joins of arms and thighs,
And her eyes and hair were darkness –
They were dark, like starry skies…

I had stood and I had watched her,
For what seemed to be a while.
Then she vanished, and I wondered
If I’d seen her look and smile…

There are angels, from the heavens,
Some declare that they have seen.
I have never seen an angel,
But that vision, I have seen.

Of that vision, that I saw once,
In a dream – or in the day,
I have given a description.
Imagine it, you may…

But the place, in which I saw her,
Even though I knew it well,
For a treasure, or in torture,
Is a thing I wouldn’t tell.

2014 April 18th, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Faith

Faith

Is there an isle, in an ocean blue,

Where decency remains,

Where men walk nude and women too,

And no one sane complains?

Is there a village, perching high

Above the clouds that rain,

Whose village elders rarely lie

Or deal for worldly gain?

Oh, there are islands plentiful

And villages sans measure,

Where decency is still the rule

And honesty's a treasure!

The ones, who still are decent, they,

In humble actions, trust.

And those, who still are honest, speak

But are unheard by us. 

"Should we have faith or should we seek

For evidence?" you ask.

"It's faith that gives us eyes to seek

And patience for the task."

Babui / Arjun

2011 June 4th, Sat.

Brooklyn
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Related: Faith-II
( http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2017/07/faith.html )