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  

 

 

 

Darkness—and Light

 
Darkness—and Light

We need to see and so to understand

How pettiness and peeve can overwhelm
Our better instincts, blur and blind our sight,
And bend our reason towards disastrous ends.
So conscience dies and truth is buried deep,
As endless lies and endless wars extend
Disaster zones in which the children wail
As parents weep or turn to remnant faith.

The gods and goddesses of ancient yore
Took part, we’re told, in all our grievous sins
Of lying, cheating, loot and murder—yes,
And even now we bow to Mammon’s will
And execute his lethal schemes and  worse—
As both the godless and the theists claim
Their rights to slaughters that will never end.

In all this darkness, growing deeper, might
There still be light that waits for more at dawn?
There surely is, as mind and heart can see
If only turned and opened towards this light—
That strives at every time and every place
To heal, console, and give us more of strength
That still sustains the soul in all that lives.

Behold the darkness, viewing it in full.
Observe the remnant light and cherish it.
The cynics and the ones defeated spurn
The hope that’s offered and the needed fight,
And in so doing aid the dark’s advance.
So recognize this trait, within yourself
As well as others. Understand the plight

Of those who’re wounded, yet sustain the light.

2025 July 5th, Sat. 
Berkeley, California

Grace and Strength

 
Grace and Strength

The rogues and rascals rise and rule.
Some cheer—as others weep.
Some say, “It's always been this way.”
Some search for reasons deep,
And others say that might is right—
And so enjoy their sleep.

We watch the scenes, on TV screens, 
Of horrors far away,
And wonder when these things will end—
And lo—it’s break of day—
But not the dawn of hope that brings
The peace for which we pray.

And here, and where I first saw light,
The time for polls is close.
Some lead the others by a mile
And others by a nose.
But whom to choose, among the rogues,
Is something no one knows,

Who’s taken time to see, to read—
To delve a little deep.
The more we learn, the worse we feel,
The more we’d like to weep!
But never fear—and persevere—
Until the final sleep!

For every three steps forwards, there
Are two steps back again.
And so we struggle now, as did
The ones who struggled when
The generations past had fought 
Their battles—but in Zen—

For when we lose that inner sight,
We also lose our way,
And so are led where rascals lead 
Us—more and more astray.
Inhale, exhale, and smile to greet—
The grace and strength of day.

2024 March 27th, Wed.
Berkeley, California 

Bay Lights

Bay Lights

The past few days were hot and humid both, as the dog days often are, this time of year.

I’d wondered if the breezes by the ocean might be cooler than the air that rose from heated streets.

And so tonight I walked down to the Bay and saw the distant lights reflected from the tops of waves.  These swept towards the shore and softly splashed—again and yet again.

And all the rest was dark, as waters are on moonless nights—with stardust spread above.

But city lights had hidden much. 

I only saw the stars of Coney and of Staten Island, with the glowworms crawling on the Verrazano  Bridge—as fireflies slowly rose and arced from JFK.

And faraway, beyond the Jersey shore, from time to time I saw the lightning flash and set ablaze a bank of clouds—without a sound.

And walking back, before the thunderstorm, I saw the headlights speeding on the Belt, in obvious haste to go to—where they went.

The breezes?  Yes, they’d cooled me down a bit.  They freshened as I walked towards my home.

I’d read that LED’s make more of light and less of heat.  On Brooklyn’s sleeping streets, they’d turned the night, in parts, to pallid day.

The storm?  It never came.  It still is hot.

But I remember walking through the night and seeing then the lights, by Gravesend Bay.

And that is still relief.

2018 August 1st, Wed.
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York.

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 Light upon the Bench

    
The Light upon the Bench 
 

While walking ‘round the circle in the park,
with midnight passed, and walking all alone,
the lamps that lined the path had blinded me.

I could not see the stars and clouds above.

But walking on, with emptiness of mind,
I saw the light reflected from a bench.

And though the slats were wood,
they seemed to shine
like metal—and the sight reminded me
of walks before, beside the moonlit sea.

2016 August 29th Mon, 1:28 am
Brooklyn, New York 
       
The Light upon the Bench—Pictures (5)
    

How Beautiful—III

 

How Beautiful—III

 

How beautiful this world is,

in which we chance to live—

the blues and greens of sky and plants,

the warmer hues of earth,

the flowers dancing in the breeze,

the wondrous forms of beasts,

the sounds of water and of air—

the tinkle, rustle, swoosh,

the drumming of the raindrops,

the roars of waves and storms,

the scents of rose and jasmine,

of fruits and musks and earth,

the light that’s always changing—

the wonder of the dawn,

the clouds that soar and tumble,

the brilliance of noon,

the starry skies of midnight,

the phases of the moon…

******

I have heard the children laughing,

I have watched the puppies play.

I have seen the mother smiling

at the infant she had borne.

I have seen the sad, the evil,

the horrors of this world.

and yet, when I’m despairing,

I see its wonder still.

 

And so, when I’m departing,

despite the pain I’ve borne,

I’ll leave this place in gratitude,

and bless the ones that live.

To those who have departed

and those who're still unborn,

I'll send my silent greetings,

before I leave this world.

2014 September 24th, Thu.

(last 4 stanzas added Oct 3rd, Sat., along

with lines 4 to 7 from end of 1st stanza)

Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York

Two earlier poems with the same title:

 *   How Beautiful—II  

      ( http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2013/06/how-beautiful-ii.html )

 *   How Beautiful    

      ( http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2012/12/how-beautiful.html )    

    

গাইব তাদের গান (gaibo tader gan)

 
গাইব তাদের গান

ধর্মের পথে, কাটল জীবন পাপের আবিষ্কারে৷
কাজের ফলে, ভরল থলি কেবল তিরষ্কারে৷
যা কিছু প্রিয়, রাখল কেড়ে গভীর অন্ধকারে৷

নিশির মাঝে, পথ হারিয়ে, আলোর খোঁজে যাই৷
হোঁচট খেয়ে, হুমরে পরে, যমের দয়া চাই৷
দুঃখে, শোকে, মনে মনে মায়ের ভজন গাই৷
 
বারেবারে আঘাত খেয়ে, তাও ত আছে প্রাণ৷
তাই ত আছে আলোর স্মৃতি, আছে আশার টান৷
রাতের শেষে, ভোর বেলাতে, গাইব তাদের গান৷
 
শনিবার, ৩রা জানুয়ারি, ২০১৪ খ্রি
ব্রুকলিন, নিউ য়র্ক
 

Darkness and Light

  
Darkness and Light
 
“Forgive them,” said Jesus, “for they know not what they do.”
Or so the gospel says he said, two thousand years ago,
Across the seas, where Asia met with Africa and Greece.
 
And further back and further east, the sutras say Gotama,
Meditating, woke to truth and called us to awaken,
Who walk through life as if we dream, as captives to illusion.
 
The misery that we create, the madness we engender –
This lives, although we pass away, to plague the generations.
So vision stays beclouded and the nightmare still goes on.
 
But also, when we find our peace and turn towards the truth,
Our acts of kindness leave behind a little patch of calm.
And so there’s still the hope we’ll see and know what we have done.
 
Within the tempest, as it blows, in peacetime and in war,
Within our hearts, amidst the greed, the anger, fear and hatred,
There still remains the sanity – and memory of love.
 
“Forgive them,” Jesus said, “for they know not what they do.”
In hubris, men behave like gods.  Like Icarus, they fall.
And misery breeds misery, as wretches move in thrall.

And heeding Jesus, we forgive and let the burden go.
We pray that madness dissipates, that we regain our sight,
And that the darkness of the world gives way, at last, to light.

But prayer will not right a wrong or bring the dead to life.
It cannot heal a mortal wound or turn the night to day.
And so we pause and ask ourselves the reason why we pray.
 
Is there a need for suffering?  Is there a place for sorrow?
Perhaps it gives us more of depth, and humbles those of pride.
For who has not known sorrow may not truly know compassion.
 
We need the sunshine of the day, we need the dark of night.
And so perhaps the dark within is needed, so we see
And value more the sanity – and cherish more the love.
 
And there are shades of darkness too – there's sorrow and there's grief.
And both of these may cleanse the soul – but there is madness wild
And all the smaller devilries that cloud our hearts and minds.
   
And these are what obstruct our sight and so pollute our souls.
And what can clear away these things, I truly do not know.
But those of wisdom say to breathe and turn towards the light.

And so we only pray for peace, the peace within ourselves –
For courage when the fear is great, for calm when all is roiled,
So humbly we may lead our lives – and smiling, turn to die.
 
2014 September 20th Sat, 3:24 am
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York