Planet

   

Planet

  

Upon this planet with its blues and greens,

Its many shades of browns and other hues,

And all the other sights that daylight brings—

That ever changing light, from dawn to dusk,

With shadows stark on golden afternoons,

With clouds and peaks of white against the blues—

  

Yes, all of this and all the night’s delight,

With planets, moon, and stars and galaxy

Revealed for those afar from urban glare—

Upon this planet I have lived and seen

These wonders—glowing, timeless and serene—

Or so it seemed, amidst the constant flux

That marks our lives upon this spinning Earth. 

 

I’m grateful, yes, for all these sights I’ve seen—

For all the solace from the blues and greens

And other visions that remain with me

Of this, our planet, till I cease to be.

  

Amidst the madness, these have kept me sane.

Amidst the heartless, these have nourished me—

As have the actions and the care of those

Who see beyond the self and see within. 

  

These give me light and hope, amidst the sin

And all the darkness of the world we’re in.

These give me faith—and give me courage still. 

   

2026 January 19th, Mon.

Berkeley, California  

 

 

 

Saintliness and Sin

   

Saintliness and Sin

 

Is it possible, within the city's

Bustle, to be quiet—

To walk or sit in peace amidst

The clamor of the riot?

 

I had often tried to do this, tried to

Slow from moving fast—

To pause and breathe and gather in—

Although this didn’t last.

 

And though one thing or other

Would come and prick my bubble,

If I’d ever stalled within this,

I could be in bigger trouble.

 

To disengage from madnesses

Of fear or scorn or rage

Invites, alas, no kindnesses

From those who still engage. 

  

Within a mass hysteria,

As in a mad stampede,

Whoever tries to slow or stop

Is trampled well indeed!

  

******

 

There’s the yin within the yang and there's

The yang within the yin.

So day and night can alternate

And saintliness and sin.

 

And so I laugh when fit to cry

And weep as I am smiling.

I venture out in stormy rain

And run in when it’s shining.

 

I listen to our “enemies”,

I question all our wars

And hum my verse to Venus when

The others sing to Mars.

 

I see the sides to everything

As often as I can.

I see the Muslim in the Jew,

The woman in the man.

 

But still I cannot slow enough,

Within the rush we’re in,

To be at peace as wars abound—

Be clear amidst the sin.

 

2025 Nov. 13, Thu.

(4th, 5th, & last 2 quatrains, Nov. 19)

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
  

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 

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

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

Till We Die

.
Till We Die
.
So “science” is placed upon a throne that gives
It more of title than of power, while 
In vassalage to commerce and its drives,
With human wit and industry subsumed 
By all the cash that builds up capital.
.
This puts us on the roads of noise and rush—
The paths that lead us more and more away
From quiet observation—being one
With all existence—and our reverence
For life and all of Nature's balances.
.
Our sense of right and wrong, a sense innate
That judges what is fair and feels the pain
Of other beings—this is dulled, obscured
By distance from the acts that we defend
Or those about which we are ignorant.  
.
Afraid of depth, afraid of painful sight,
We close our eyes and ears and so our hearts, 
With minds and senses jaded, scoffing at
The ones who bring attention to the wrongs
Or struggle hard to change what isn’t right.
.
This mass retreat to dwell in shallowness—
Is this from age—and  all the buffets borne
Through years of struggle to subsist, survive—
To do what’s right in even little ways—
To find that even these were scorned and blocked?
.
Or is it from the long-accustomed ease
Of “going with the flow”, “not making waves”—
That most of us have followed through our lives –
As evils grew—with our acquiescence—
With basic ethics leashed and pegged in place?
.
I do not know—but see this in myself 
And others of my age and even those
With many years remaining in their lives.
It is as if we all have given up
On even seeing past our small cocoons.
.
So hopes of changes for the better lie, 
Along with youth, within our garbage cans,
And even younger folk are blinded by
A loss of sight as more of us are turned
To serfs that sell our labor for a wage. 
.
And yet, we still have senses left to use—
To know and try to understand the world,
However poorly, yet with diligence, 
With patience, inner sight, humility,
And courage still to question and rebel.
.
And doing this may often cause us pain,
With scorn from others when we speak of things
They do not wish to hear. And yet there is
The truth, perceived, that undercuts the lie, 
That each can softly whisper, till we die.
.
2024 July 3rd, Thu.
Berkeley, California
.

Be Open

 

Be Open

We’re driven not by reason but

By instincts and by feelings, yet

Our reason helps us on our way

And guards us from the snare and net.

And how can instincts, feelings work

When hearts have hardened or are dead,

And eyes and ears are closed to all

Except the comfort-views we're fed?

******

And how can caring, justice thrive

When hatred makes us deaf and blind,

Ignoring pleas, believing lies,

And shutting down the heart and mind?

Question, question what you know,

And turn away from comfort-news.

Resist the laziness of mind.

Be open, yes, to facts and views.

******

Beware the call, resist the urge

To demonize or deify—

To make supreme a god, a race,

A culture or to glorify

A nation or a class, or lift 

On high religion, custom, creed, 

A system of economy,

Or justify the wars of greed.

******

Do recognize what evil is.

Resist the call to turn to hate,

To cast the others down, despise,

Subdue, oppress, exterminate.

No god needs help from humans and

No creed needs other views suppressed,

Except the god or creed that fears

What might, by humans, be expressed.

******

We tend to worship those “above”

And spit upon the ones “below”.

Beware the virus that infects 

And leads to thoughts of “high” and “low”.

Beware of leaders! Be not led

Except by sanity of head

And purity of heart. Be open.

Live, until you're truly dead.

2024 March 14th, Thu.

Berkeley, California

Beyond the Bounds of Tense

 
Beyond the Bounds of Tense

The present moment—that is all
We have—and yet it flies.
Beyond the here and now—the rest—
Has more of myth than truth.
We long in vain for permanence
And cling to our beliefs.
How precious are our memories,
And yet, they hide the root.

The Buddhas and the Jinas saw
The unity of being,
The suffering of sentients,
The traps that we are in.
The followers of Abraham,
Believing in their god,
Perceived the faults that plague our lives
And labeled these as “sin”.

And so have other streams of thought
And faith in what transcends
The lives we live that start and end
Been part of human sense,
Providing vision, solace, strength, 
Supporting us in grief,
And giving meaning to our lives
Beyond the bounds of tense.

But only when we sink within,
Let all possessions go,
Including love and life itself,
Can truth be truly seen—
Or so we're told by seers whom
We may, or not, believe.
Can each of us, a speck of dust,
Be one with truth, serene?

2024 March 3rd, Sunday
Berkeley, California

Ghouls

 
Ghouls

Spare me from the ones who feel no doubt,
Who think they know what things are all about—
The jaded cynics, firm on fear and greed,
The zealots, fixed, of each and every creed,
The ones who walk in furrows others plough
Or practice paradigms, not asking how
These came to be, nor ever asking why
The weapons flow as women, children die,
The ones who close the eye and ear and mind
To all beyond their own exclusive kind,
Who use their labels, stamping each in turn,
To silence those who scream when others burn.

Oh spare me, please, from humans, turned to ghouls,
Who've found their grooves—and clearly lost their souls,
Who still can party, while the children die,
And still have gall enough to spread the lie.

2024 March. 1,  Fri.
Berkeley, California

Sanity

 
Sanity

Amidst the horrors all around, we see
The things of beauty, hear the sounds of joy,
Observe the workings of compassion, care—
And so find solace still—and sanity.

To only note the horror, being blind
To all that still remains of living grace,
Is clearly partial. So it also is
To turn away from cruel miseries,
As if these things were mere imaginings.

How easy it can be to close the eyes,
The ears, and heart and mind, to misery;
How hard it is to turn to it, to try
To ease that pain—or point to it at least,
So others firstly see and then decry
Yet more of endless pain and suffering,
And act together then to end this curse.

******

There is a time for action and a time
For needed rest, reflection and repose.

One needs to close one’s eyes and savor peace—

Whatever little fortune might dispense—
And so to gather strength to live, to think,
To speak and act in ways that benefit
The beings who are helpless and besieged—
No matter what their kind or heritage.

******

When madness dire has seized the populace,
Then thoughts and words and acts are deemed insane
That try to turn from madness back to sanity.
And those who still persist are vilified
And labeled this and that and even worse,
And so, in time or rapidly, they lose
Their friends, their jobs and often even more.

******

We each are subject to what others think
And how they speak and act as they react
To what we say and do. And this is good,
As this constrains us when we are amiss.

But when we take account of frailties
That might be ours and still in peace conclude
That we should speak and act to try at least
Prevent injustice, death and suffering,
Then that is what we need to do, or else
Forfeit what still remains of sanity.

2024, January 28, Mon.
Berkeley, California

Kichu Bhalobaxa-কিছু ভালোবাসা-A Bit of Love

 
A lightly edited version of Google Translate's translation into English follows the Bangla (Bengali) text below. I will try to improve the translation later.

   কিছু ভালোবাসা

শ্রমের জীবনের শেষের সাঁঝে, 
আঁধারে যখন হেঁটেছি ধীরে, 
জগতের নিষ্ঠুরতার মাঝে,
তোমার স্মৃতি এসেছে ফিরে।
 
ক্লান্ত দেহে, বিমর্ষ মনে, 
করুণার আলো, আদি, চিরতন, 
পেয়েছি তখন মানসের কোণে। 
পেয়েছি দৃষ্টির, সাহসের রতন।
 
এটুকু কৃপা, এটুকু আলো, 
তোমার দেওয়া, রইবে সাথে। 
তোমাকে তাই বাসবো ভালো, 
যতই ব্যথা, গভীর রাতে।
 
আসবে আবার, ভরসা-ভরা ভোর। 
নতুন প্রজন্মে জাগবে আশা। 
দিয়ে যাবো তাই, যা কিছু মোর—
পেয়েছি যখন কিছু ভালোবাসা।
 
  রবিবার, ২৮ জানুয়ারি, ২০২৪ খ্রি
  বার্ক্লি, ক্যালিফোর্নিয়া
 
-----------------------------------------------------------
   A Bit of Love
  
At the end of my working life,
Walking slowly in the evening's dark,
Amidst the cruelty of the world,
My memory of you returned.
  
With tired body and exhausted mind,
I found again, in a corner of my soul,
The light of mercy, ancient and eternal.
This gave me vision and courage again.
  
This bit of grace, this bit of light,
That came from you, will stay with me.
And that is why I will remember you,
No matter how painful and dark the night.
  
The hope-filled dawn will come again,
And hope will arise in a new generation.
And that is why I will give whatever I have,
Having received that bit of love. 
  
  Sunday, January 28, 2024 
   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

 

All is Naught--and Naught is All

I am not sure what this signifies, if anything. It came to me somehow and so I have written it down.

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

All is Naught—and Naught is All
 
What cleaves the self from what it sees as other
And separates, in time, the child and mother?
What grace might free us from the trap we’re in
That makes the brother turn against the brother?
 
I asked these questions, turning towards that sky
That sees us being born and sees us die.
I asked these questions. All I got was naught—
No answer as to what—or how—or why.
 
And left with this, as all who ask might be,
I asked myself—and then began to see
What words or sight or thoughts cannot convey—
The naught that births the timeless, boundless sea.
 
******
 
I pondered this, perplexed, and wondered why
I’d sensed this not by grace of sea or sky,

But from within my bounded self—and why
I should not view it as an useless lie.
 
And so I sank within again and found
An emptiness devoid of light and sound
That yet was filled with all the blazing stars,
With silence bearing still a sense profound.
 
“Within the naught, there does reside the all—
And so the all is nothing but the naught.
And this, when realized in depth, would be
The sum and essence of the wisdom taught
By pointing towards what can’t be said or thought—
The door to sight beyond what eyes can see
Or ears can hear. The fog in which we’re caught,
When cleared, reveals the link of naught to all.”
 
2023 October 23, Mon.
Berkeley, California
 

Barking Dogs

 
Barking Dogs

We’ve bred our dogs to bark, so they
Alert us; trained them to obey.
But this has made some infantile.
And humans too, we’ve made this way.

How many might the layers be
That form the full reality!
Impatiently, we skim—and judge. 
What lies beneath, we rarely see.

How easy, then, with swift surmise,
To demonize—and heroize!
Ignoring all that's intertwined
Has led us long on paths unwise.

******

There is, around us, misery—
That’s plain enough for all to see—
That’s caused by being in a rush—
Not taking time to pause—and be.

For if we did, we’d realize,
Perhaps at first with some surprise,
Our “demons” and our “heroes”, both,
Are naught but us—when stripped of lies.

We need not take the gangster’s side,
Nor cast the victim’s pleas aside.
We each should act, with full resolve,
Yet know there’s more than just a side.

****** 

To better see then, in the round,
What other ways have seers found?
I cannot say. Some delve within;
Some harken to the softest sound.

In times of peril, beings act—
But even then, there’s still the fact
That guidance comes from sight—and not 
From blind obedience to a tract.

The calls of prophets, ideologues—
Are somewhat like the calls of frogs.
So music too can touch the soul—
And yet be used to rouse the dogs.

2023 March 25th, Sat.
Berkeley, California

Judgement and Blame

 
Judgement and Blame
 
So easy it can be—to find a thing
Or person that we blame for this or that,
Neglecting all the things, combined, that might 
Have brought the circumstance to where it's at.
 
At every moment, we have choices that
We make, although we may not be aware
That we are doing so. And yet the past,
The present and the future still are there
 
To influence that choice. The future? Yes—
The one that we perceive, with hope or fear.
And yet, we have to act, and take the blame
Or credit for the action. That is clear.
 
It will do not do to blame the past for this
Or even present—or what these portend.
We each should bear the weight of what we do,
For action is what matters in the end.
 
******
 
But still, let's slow the judgement and the blame
We cast on others. Let us try and pause
To understand what brought the acts to be,
And not be hasty in ascribing cause.
 
We cannot see within another's mind
Or gauge the pain within another's heart,
But we can pause to try and think and feel—
And this has always been a practiced art
 
That now is more neglected. Who has time
To pause, reflect and try to comprehend?
It's easier to quickly blame and judge—
For breakage can be difficult to mend.
 
The habits that we have are useful but
They might be harmful if we let them steer
Our thoughts and words and actions. In our lives
We need at times to pause to see and hear.
 
2022, June 13^th, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York
 
 

When Insight Is Not in Sight

When Insight Is Not in Sight

When old ambitions all are shed and newer ones not grown,
We then are naked and exposed, with each pretension known.
And then, in painful clarity, we might perceive the ground
In which we each are rooted, till we cease to be around.

We still can savor pleasures and our satisfactions small,
Enduring pains and those frustrations that afflict us all.
Our sorrows bring humility and also give us depth,
And so, to these, as to our joys, we all remain in debt.

With all the past departed and the future yet to come,
This moment of experience and of action is the sum
Of all that we can live in—or can alter just a bit.
So even for ambition, the realm must be it.

The air that’s breathed is taken in and then it is released,
And all in a continuous stream, whose flow has never ceased,
Except when we have held the breath—and only for a while.
Let’s dwell within this stream—whose flow is cause enough to smile.

The old has died, the new is born—and yet it is the same.
The revolutions come and go, with never ending blame.
The empires rise, the empires fall, the spills are red and bright,
And then they clot and darken.  Day returns at end to night.

So should we hope for dawn or wait for dusk, forgetting this—
That deep within despair there dwells the silence that is bliss?
There is yin within the yang and there is yang within the yin,
And blessed grace is present in the savage heart of sin.

High upon the mountaintop or down along the beach,
The center of the universe is there beside us each.
It flutters by the butterfly, it wallows with the whale.
It dances in the ocean waves, it howls amidst the gale.

In the well within the galaxy, we find ourselves again,
And even in inversion, encounter pleasure-pain.
“So is there right and wrong?” we ask, “And is there truth and sense?”
As meaning is unwoven and then threaded back as tense.

Let’s shake our heads to clear them and then jointly mouth a mantra.
It doesn’t matter if it’s from the rishis or the tantra.
Let’s end with aoung and amen and a shantih that is triple,
Or mouth “Shalom, salaam.” and ask the goddess for her nipple.

2018 July 17th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York

  

I Met my Darling at the Start of Spring

So Is It Spring?

https://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2018/04/so-is-it-spring.html
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

I Met my Darling at the Start of Spring
 
I met my darling at the start of spring
And dallied with her till I tired of it.
And then I killed her, so I could again
Have other darlings, till I waned in wit.

But then I met another lissome lass,
Who reeled me in as if I were a catch,
Then struck me hard and set my heart aflame,
And tossed me off, as if I were a match.

And so I perished and was born again,
Forgetting all my sins and suffering.
And growing then to youth and middle age,
I looked to fall, while looking back at spring.

And summer, winter and the seasons all
Of all my lives appeared to coalesce.
And those I’d wounded, those who’d wounded me—
Were none, I saw, but I—no more, no less.

2018 May 4th, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York  
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
So Is It Spring?

https://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2018/04/so-is-it-spring.html

  

Today

Today 

  


Along the journey of my life, I came
To a place unmapped and so without a name.
And there I wandered—lost, confused and torn,
Not knowing where to go or whom to blame.

And all the yearnings and regrets were there
And all the worries that we humans bear.
Their constant clamor so perturbed my mind,
For what was present, I could hardly care.

But then, when I had burned for long in hell,
And what was right or wrong could hardly tell,
From deepest dark, a flash of insight came
That gave me light and made my being well.

******

And I will now, with feeble phrases, try
To tell you what I saw, when death was nigh,
That surely saved my life and gave me peace—
Enough at least to give me strength to cry.

The tears of men are scarce and rarely seen,
And some may deem that vision as obscene.
And so, in private, these are mostly shed,
By those whose public faces seem serene.

And yet, that weeping, when it comes, may bring
Its own relief, as all that woe can sing
That till that time was mute and caged within,
But now, towards the open sky, takes wing.
 
******

Oh yesterdays of happiness or grief,
Tomorrows built of chance or blind belief—
Allow today, with all its pleasure-pain,
To bloom and yield its hue and fragrance brief.

The past is memory. The future, who can see?
So what is it that’s there, for you and me?
No matter what the part or whose the script,
The present scene is where we each must be.

The day goes by. The morrow is not here.
What use is our regret and all our fear?
This moment is the only thing we each
Can have and fashion. Let us hold it dear.

*******

And yet it passes—and is then no more,
Except in memory. All indeed is flow.
It can be felt but then it can’t be held—
This precious moment that we must let go.

And that’s the secret that is known to all
Except the batter who has missed the ball
And then would lure it back—or fears the next—
For that’s the trap in which we humans fall.

These things, the sages have described—and yet,
Too often, in delusion, we forget
That as in everything, our practice makes
Us better in the things that we regret.

******

To find the sight that saints and sinners sought
But could not find, as they, like all, were caught
Within the swirling fog, our practices
Should each dissolve—along with all we’re taught.

So all our learning, from the first to last,
And hopes and worries, to the streaming, fast,
We then relinquish, so the present breath
Can flow unhindered by the future, past.

And this unlearning is the way we ken
That light obscured to all the learned men,
For only when we’re rid of the thief that’s thought
Is the present fully sensed—in the grace of Zen.

******
 
Embrace the living being in your arms,
No matter what the lack may be of charms.
Inhale the moment. Pause, and then exhale.
You’ve been with God—and freed from all that harms.

And all of this that I have written here
Had come to me, in a vision sharp and clear—
That all my words may only serve to dull—
Within that hell of madness and of fear.

And since that time, I’ve slowly walked a while,
And stumbled, fallen, wandered back a mile,
But being opened by the knife to light,
I sense the darkness—and I wince and smile.

******

Our lives are eddies in this world of flow
And each obstruction ends in more of woe.
We breathe and drink and eat—and yet we know
That all that’s taken in must surely go.

And yet, I would not, in a manner brute
Or gentle, claim that all there is of truth
In healing soul and body, I have found
Or say that I have traced it to its root.

For every prophet in this field, we find
Another who is opposite in mind
And spirit. So in humbleness I’ll end
By saying this—remember to be kind.

2018 January 12th, Friday
Brooklyn, New York
    

The Walls of Sin

 
The Walls of Sin

I can weave my words in verses.
I can try to write in prose.
But until I see some action,
I will never find repose.

My words may lull my readers, 
Or wake them up from sleep,
But until the deeds have followed,
Their impact can’t be deep—

For words are far too easy,
And deeds are often hard.
For every verse I fashion,
I find a broken shard.

It tells of visions shattered,
It speaks of things undone.
How many are the losses
For every battle won? 
   
Our spans are so uncertain—
Except in that they end.
We seek some satisfaction—
Before we are at end.

What action do I look for?
Should it be yours or mine?
It’s an ebbing, of the madness,
That might need a grace divine.

But no god will come to aid us
And no leader, heaven-sent.
We can wait for gods forever.
We can follow—and repent.

I am looking for the vision
That can see the trap we’re in.
I am waiting for the action
From the heart that’s cleansed of sin.

For long, a tide’s been rising
That brings us more of lies.
We can work towards its turning,
But only if we’re wise.

We are busy with our duties
Or sundry pleasures, so
We limit heart and vision—
And query, even more.

Can truth be gleaned from fiction,
Or virtue born from vice?
Can warmth be found in beings,
Whose hearts have turned to ice?

If we see the faults of others
But not our own, we sink
Towards a dark suspicion
That stems from how we think.

If we note the act of evil
But not the ones of good,
We feed the fire within us
With more of kindling wood.

The anger and the hatred
Can burn away the soul.
Could Yeshua or Gotama
Make such a being whole?
   
We sicken from the slaughter.
We hide our hearts away.
So darkness is ascendant.
What hope remains for day?

But see, the ones who're shielded
From mayhem and from worse—
They too have lost their senses,
And they can't be cured by verse.
  
When people cease from hearing,
A deafness then prevails.
The orphans may be screaming,
But all their pleading fails.

When people cease from seeing,
Then blindness is their fate.
What end is there to hatred,
Except in more of hate?
 
We need a gentle cleansing
Of body and of mind.
We need to turn from hating
To relearning to be kind.

Towards the ones we care for,
We might be soft and kind.
But what about the others—
That we’ve put out of mind?

We can’t be saints or angels,
But should we yield to rage
That blinds us to the spirals
That churn through every age?

Should we close our eyes to madness,
Be cocooned, within our nest?
Should we tend to duties, pleasures—
And wave away the rest?

Do first, that which is local.
But then, look up and see
What's past and what is distant
And how they came to be.

The future is created
By what we now will do.
And all the past is present
In thought—and feeling too.

Can a being, who’s conditioned,
Be free of habit’s snare?
If we’re driven by the madness,
Can we learn again to care?
 
We are trained, from when we’re children,
By the candy and the stick.
So we grow up to be zombies
And we make each other sick.

But as those who are discerning
Grow in number, it will turn—
This tide that has been rising—
This fire, in which we burn.

Can we find an end to conflicts,
When we’re not at peace within?
Can we see the pain of others,
When we’re blinded by our sin?

It is feeling that will free us,
But not what is expected.
It’s the heart that is within us,
Whose call we have neglected.

It is thinking that will lead us,
But not the thoughts implanted.
It’s the sense, that was within us,
That the nonsense has supplanted.

It is action that will heal us,
But not the kind we praise.
It’s the action of refraining
From running through the maze.

This maze is our creation.
It’s the prison we have made.
When we cease from blindly racing,
The walls of sin will fade.

Observe your own reaction
That traps you even more.
Inhale, and see it rising.
Exhale, and let it go.

When the cattle are stampeding,
The one who pauses dies.
So also truth can perish,
When all around are lies.

But when there is a slowing,
Proceeding one by one,
Then truth is heard and spoken,
And sanity has won.

2017 May 31, Wed.
(parts in blue added 2017 June 4th, Sun.)
Brooklyn, New York