Bosses

   
Bosses
 
As long as men and women have a boss or work as bosses,
So long will they have cavities that can't be fixed with flosses.
So if you go to work, one day, while wearing just a thong,
Perhaps you'll strike a blow for those, who'll honor you in song.
And if you are a man, perhaps this might not work out well,
But if a woman, when retiring, try it -- what the hell!
And if you think, by then your body might be out of shape,
Then go to work, that final day, while dressed up as an ape,
And jump upon a table, stomp your feet and thump your chest,
So bosses, seeing this, might from their bossing take a rest.
 
2015 January 24th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
 

So Who Can Blame the Drunkard?

    
So Who Can Blame the Drunkard?
  

Gujarat Chief Minister Narendra Modi is also at the 400 year old Lord
Jagannath Temple where he pulled the chariot carrying the deity.
(AP Photo/Ajit Solanki)
Image source:  http://ibnlive.in.com/photogallery/4322-5.html

 
In a world, where life is feeding on other life to live,
We still converse on ethics – and mortal sins forgive.
Some speak of a creator, who set this all in motion.
They even bow to worship, with zeal in their devotion.

But who is this creator, so cruel in intent,
Who sets the seed to growing, to serve as condiment?
The cow will tend her calf with care, but then it will be taken
And butchered in the slaughterhouse – and roasted and partaken.

And even in our species, we see there is predation,
And this has been the basis of empire and of nation.
As asses, camels, oxen are used as beasts of burden,
So also are the billions who happen to be human.

The weight that workers carry is the labor that they do,
In the farm and in the factory – including me and you.
One labors with the muscle and another with the mind.
To the one who reaps the profit, they are drudges of a kind.

The poultry and the cattle may be slaughtered for their meat,
And if, from this, they rebel, they are easy to defeat.
The peasant and the worker, they are harnessed to the wheel,
And when there is rebellion, it is met with fire and steel.

The human mind is devious – in guile, a true exemplar.
And many are the traps it sets for those of us who’re simpler.
The spider nets its prey in webs.  Our predators enmesh us.
We pay the rent and interest, and drive the cycle vicious.

Behold, the great colossus – the juggernaut erected.
Observe its gears and crankshafts, by oil-of-man protected.
It roars and whirrs and grumbles. It moves and yet remains.
It seems that it is living – with labor in its veins.

For the engines to be running, that power the contraption,
The workers must be working, providing thus the traction.
For even the petroleum, to be flowing, needs their work,
And dire is the prognosis, for the ones who try to shirk.

For what had once been local – the landlords and their fiefs,
The herders who were herded, beholden to their chiefs –
Is now transformed to global.  The feeding chains extend
From Zululand to Zurich – and through the nations wend.

So there is no escaping. The tribal lands are torn,
With newer forms of serfdom, in every season, born.
And if there is resistance that slows the flow of cash,
It’s met with machinations that burn the brave to ash.

Who labors in the mineshafts, and is, of toil, relieved?
Who tells a tale that’s honest, and yet is still believed?
Who seeks the path of reason and isn’t robbed of wits?
Who stands against the dollar and isn’t bombed to bits?

The gods that men conceived of are also put to use.
If king and god command it, who dare the twain refuse?
And so it is that Yahweh, who thundered in the wild,
Is called to aid the conquest, and man and earth defiled.

So some may need convincing that there ever was an Eden,
That the god of the commandments was distinct from him called Satan.
For the evil seems intrinsic – and the world is steeped in sin.
So who can blame the drunkard, who seeks to drown in gin?

So do not pray to Krishna, the one of cunning wiles,
And do not dance for Kali, or think that Jesus smiles.
And Allah still is raging, and Shiva is asleep –
With Brahma, he is snoring, in intoxication deep.

2014 September 16th, Tuesday
Brooklyn, New York
   

Aenh (English version of Tuccho)

This is a free translation of the Bangla (Bengali) nonsense-poem, "Tuccho".

Aenh  

Arising in the dark, I went to the machine
And with its aid I looked for news of friends.
But finding only naught and nonsense there,
I then began to write these verses mad.

Some sit and calculate, as others sing.
Some rise at dawn to bathe and swim in ponds.
Some snore at noon, while others play at chess.
Some call out, “Momma!”  Others shout for “Dad!”

“Where’s the honey?  Say!” demands the bee.
I answer her, “It’s in the flower, sweet.”
The insects and the spiders rule.  We serve –
And look to them for all our sustenance.

There’s God, for whom the faithful sing.
But who is murdered, by the road, at noon?
Krishna hums, “The Christ has gone. Who’s left?”
The Buddha claims he’s Mahavir’s disciple.

In my knee – a sudden, piercing pain!
I cry out, “Daddy-oh!” and try a pickle.
Coitus, I’ve been told, is better yet.
But Shiva, when I ask him, answers, “Aenh!”

2014 April 1, Tue., 3:30 am
translated April 12th, 12:16 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
  
Note:  The title, “Aenh”,  is my attempt at spelling a certain local nasal interjection. It is mainly used to dismiss a question or concern raised by another.  I have heard this sound at times, issuing, usually, from an older male, during my years at the schools in Brooklyn.  It matches in some ways (though not quite) the downward-flap hand gesture, signifying low regard or uselessness, that is prevalent among some of us desis (subcontinentals). 

This last gesture should not be confused with the twist and upward palm, "What's this?" or the sideways-flap dismissal that one also often sees, along with many other characteristic gestures of hand and eye, in parts of the subcontinent.  But the "aenh" of the Brooklynites and perhaps other Usans beats all of this as a perhaps irrevocable utterance of utmost disregard, tinged with disgust. It seems also to give vent to a world-weary cynicism that is both the antithesis and the inevitable companion of all the "drive and jive" that mark the United States. ;-)
 
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Here are some illustrations of the use of this device.

"What did you think of the valedictorian's speech?"
"Aenh."

"Do you think the newly arrived immigrant students, the ones who don't speak a word of English, will understand these instructions?"
"Aenh."

"How can we read and grade all these state exam papers in such a short time?"
"Aenh."

"Will the teachers have enough time to teach this curriculum if we lose one day each week?  And see, they're also going to drastically shorten the periods on Wednesdays to make time for the 'professional development' that the administration feels the more experienced teachers need.  How will the chemistry and other science labs work with the time reduced to 35 minutes, including set-up and take-down time?  What about safety violations? You know how some of the kids are.  How can we take time to prevent those when the students barely have time to rush through the lab?  Will they even have time to read the instructions? You know how some of them need help with this."
"Aenh."
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A more literal translation of the Bangla word, tuccho (Sanskrt tuccha), might perhaps be "unimportant", "insignificant", "inconsequential", "trifling", "held in low regard" or, in certain contexts, "contemptible".
  

The Why

The Why
   
I asked a gentleman I met the reason for existence.
He told me God so willed it – and we each should seek repentance.
I asked him where to find his God, so I could push this further,
And silently, he pointed up.  If looks could kill, he’d murder.

I climbed a mountain high to be, to God above, that nearer.
But when I sat atop the peak, that reason wasn’t clearer.
I thought I saw Him in a cloud – dreadlocked, fiercely bearded.
I gave a shout.  He disappeared.  Perhaps He had not heard it.

I sought to ask a Buddhist monk.  He said to me, “Nirvana!”
And handed me, in silence, with a smile, a small banana.
Was I to eat it?  Could this be the reason I was born?
I pondered this.  The more I thought, the further I was torn.

Perhaps I should not eat it – simply watch my own desire?
Could this, perhaps, extinguish what remained of mortal fire?
I puzzled on this – till, at last, I fell to sleep and dreaming.
And there I met a madman, in a valley, madly screaming.

“Why do you scream, oh madman?”  I then asked the one insane.
He danced for me a crazy jig, as if to entertain,
But then advanced upon me with a wild and staring eye.
I tried to run – but woke instead – not knowing, still, the why.

2014 January 11, Sat., 2:09 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York