Showing posts with label Madness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Madness. Show all posts

Sunday, August 31, 2025

Paradise

 
Paradise
 
How precious are the tranquil times that come
And bring relief from all the stress and rush.
How rare these have become, for most of us,
As lethal madnesses pervade our worlds.
 
But still, outsides the war-zones, there's the dawn
With softest light, the morning bold and bright,
And then the noon and afternoon, and dusk
That calls to rest—and brings the stars to night.
 
For some at least, there still are meets at times
With friends and kin that bring back memories,
For others, only what remains in mind,
Reminding them of hell and paradise.
 
I still retain my faith that’s shorn of creeds—
The faith primeval in the truth and right—
That hears, amidst the cruelties, the voice
That calls to those who heal and those who fight.
 
2025 August 31, Sun.
Berkeley, California
 

Wednesday, September 4, 2024

Mayar Cho'le-মায়ার ছলে+An Infant Cries in Palestine


মায়ার ছলে

ফিলিস্তিনে শিশু কাঁদে।
দূর সুদানেও তাই। 
কঙ্গোতেও কান্না ভাসে। 
ইয়েমেন দেশেও, ভাই। 

যতই কাঁদে, পায় না জবাব। 
চুপ হয়ে যায় শেষে।
ত্রাসের থেকে নেই যে রেহাই, 
দুর্ভাগা সব দেশে।

দেশে-দেশে, অনাহারে 
লোকে ভুগে মরে— 
নইলে কবর, নইলে শ্মশান, 
জ্যান্ত, বোমার ঝড়ে।

****** 

উপমহাদেশের ব্যোমে 
শোকের বাতাস বয়ে। 
পূর্ব থেকে কাঁদুনি এসে
পশ্চিম-নিবাসী হয়।

******

কার আদেশে হত্যা এতো? 
কোন কানুনে, শোক? 
জানলে পরে, জানিও আমায়— 
যেটাই জবাব হোক। 

‘আমি-তুমি, আমরা-তারা!’ 
বিবাদ, লড়াই চলে। 
অন্তরে যে সবাই এক-ই, 
ভোলায়, মায়ার ছলে। 

এই মায়া তো উৎস, ক্রোধের। 
দয়ার মায়া নয়। 
এর ফাঁদে লোক বিবেক হারায়।
নিষ্ঠুরতার জয়। 

সোমবার, ২রা সেপ্টেম্বর, 
বার্ক্লি, কালিফর্নিয়া 

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

An Infant Cries in Palestine

An infant cries in Palestine, 
Another in Sudan. 
The winds in Congo carry wails. 
In Yemen, it's the same. 

No answer to the crying, so 
It comes, at last, to end. 
No respite from the terror, pain—
In these forsaken lands 

Where people die from famines or
Are buried, burned, alive
As bombs descend like rain in storms
On those who’re terrified.

******

The winds of weeping waft across
Subcontinental skies,
As sorrows sough from East to West
And find their resonance.

******

By whose command, this violence? 
Which law dictates this grief? 
If you come to know, inform me, 
Whatever it may be. 

“You and me! Us and them!” 
Disputes and fights go on. 
That all of us are the same, within—
That truth has been forgotten.
 
This is a cause of our madness, while
Our kindness lies discarded. 
We lose our consciences in snares. 
Cruelty prevails. 

2024, September 2nd, Mon. 
(translated from Bengali, September 3rd) 
Berkeley, California

Saturday, August 10, 2024

Peace-2024-08-09

 
Peace-2024-08-09 

How many months of rapes and lynching mobs?
How many lame excuses, twiddling thumbs?
How many years of bombs and genocides?
How many peoples more dismissed, erased?

Our species, which has come to reign on earth,
Dispenses death in cruel, wanton ways.
We loot the lands and waters, foul them both, 
Pollute the air and act like cancers do, 

Forgetting we are part of a greater whole,
As beings, caught in frenzies, often do—
Destroying all, and so at end themselves.
The wounds and scars are visible from space.

 ******

The forests—they are felled or turned to ash;
The hills are leveled, seeking coal and ores;
And everywhere, the fields and forests yield
To roads that spread the ever-growing blight.

How precious is a life—and yet we take
The lives of others, even of our kind,
As if their worth were nothing, slaughtering
The ones perceived as foes or “lower beasts”.

How often little children recognize
The sanctity of life, have empathy
For other beings, yet, as adults, seem
To lose this sense—or choose to shut their eyes.

****** 

In each tradition, there is talk of peace
And even greetings that repeat its name.
And yet, in thoughts and words and deeds, we move
So swiftly towards our wars—and feel no shame.

Will humans ever, in our lifetimes, turn
Away from madness, veer from evil deeds?
We each are trapped, and yet we still can strive 
Towards sanity—and sow, not evil’s seeds

But those of reason, those of peace and love—
Return to quieter ways, desist from all
Compulsions, pause, give room for thought 
And space for silence—past my spouted words. 

2024 August 9, Friday
Berkeley, California 

Monday, July 15, 2024

Peace and War


Peace and War
.
The silence and the summer sun
On California’s coast,
The rustling of the leaves of trees,
The distant, passing train,
.
The letting go of everything 
Of which I once could boast,
The touching by the cooling breeze,
The easing of the strain,
.
The blue of sky, the green of leaves,
The warmth of sun on skin,
The calling of the bird I hear, 
The sway of grasses tall—
.
These all combine and so provide,
Within this world of sin,
A music of the eye and ear
That brings relief to all.
.
******
.
And yet, the all-devouring greed
Will rarely pause to taste
Of all of this that beings need,
While laying more to waste. 
.
So wealth will flow, accumulate,
And bombs will fall and burst,
As burnings rise, along with hate,
And children die of thirst.
.
****** 
.
I call to those who've closed their blinds
To open windows wide
And look, with open minds and hearts,
Across the harsh divide—
.
To see that children, everywhere,
And women, are the same—
That sentients feel of grief and pain,
As humans should of shame.
.
2024 July 15th, Mon.
Berkeley, California
.

Sunday, January 28, 2024

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

Sunday, October 2, 2022

The Madness


The Madness

We humans think so highly of ourselves—
And yet we trap ourselves in madnesses 
Of various sorts—and some are recognized 
And others not—as each in turn is praised

And then reviled and cast aside—and then
Revived, in force, to blight our lives again. 
We recognize a body's illness, but 
Ignore or serve collective madnesses. 

****** 

The quest for money drives the world we’ve made.
It rules our lives and colors all we see.
Our minds are trained to function through its rules—
And those who can’t or won’t are seen as fools.

To question this pursuit is heresy.
Some shed religion, only to adopt
This faith in money. Mammon rules on high
And governs what we think and say and do.

****** 

And who can blame the ones who play the game
And find in wealth and all it yields no shame—
Or those, for whom the cash they slave to earn
Is what sustains their selves and those they love?

But could the rules and so the play be changed 
To ease the lives of humans under stress—
And save our species from the fate that we
Have sent so many others to, in haste?

****** 

The world of Nature isn’t filled, we see,
With love and peace alone; these do exist—
Along with predators that stalk their prey,
And parasites that feed upon their hosts.

We humans are a part of Nature, so
There is, in us, a mix of all these things.
We still have power, though, to bend our lives
Towards what is sane—or towards insanity.

****** 

Some say, “The world is what it was and is—
And always will be. Let it go its way
And mind your business. Tend to self and kin
Or find your peace by seeking what’s within.”

But others say “The tides that rage and flow
Are made by humans, who’ve been led astray.
Unless this madness ends—this wild stampede—
Our kind, like others, will be swept away.”


****** 

The ones who halt—or slow too much—within 
A charging crowd are trampled under foot—
Until awareness spreads and one by one
We slow the race and so the spreading blight.

I’ve found no answer to the issues raised,
Nor any means to ease the plight we’re in. 
I only ask that humans recognize
This illness grave—that blights the world we’re in.

2022 October 2nd, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York

Tuesday, April 9, 2019

Nation States







Nation States

A country, like a town or province, is
a thing we humans make to fill our needs.
The things we cannot do by just ourselves,
we let the city, province, country do.
Towards these tasks, we pay our taxes and
elect the folk who manage these for us.

So it should be, in sober viewing, yet
we have exalted this and have imbued
a country with the qualities we once
reserved for deities—or kings who claimed
to be appointed by divine decree.

How foolish that appears, and yet we see
our politicians thumping on their chests
and seeking to be kings—and pouring scorn
on anyone who seeks to question this,
as hails and fists are raised for hero-kings.

If these were only carnivals, we then
could simply shrug, as some of us may do
at other spectacles—like all the games
where sport and commerce vulgarly combine.

But hatred, bigotry and all that flows
from human vices—these are tapped, released.
And violence follows swiftly, mounting more
as lies are spread and can’t be questioned, so
we see a spiral that descends to hell.

******

The nation states are birthed and bred in blood,
as empires are—and mass religions too.
And this is so in almost every case—
as each “exception” shows, when opened up.

And yet we yield to tribal impulses
and swear allegiance to a flag and state,
as soldiers march to beating drums, saluting
those who send them out to slay and die.

So also, lines are drawn that may divide
a province or a city.  Families flee,
as sorrow turns to anger, then to hate—
and neighbor turns on neighbor in revenge.

What started this and what sustains it still?
At base: survival; economics; those
who strive for power; vice; and ignorance.
One could say more, but let this here suffice.

******

When a person’s life is threatened, then
the person acts and so defends the self.
When he or she is verbally abused,
mistreated or exploited, then again
the “I” awakes and reasserts the self.

And so it often is with nations—these
arise as concepts when oppression reigns
that victimizes humans based on things
that they are born with or acquire in youth—
the marks of races, cultures, which they then
perceive as common and as threatened, so
they band together to defend themselves.

But then in turn, if people then succeed
in overturning orders, so that they
are now within the group that reigns, they then
may often push yet others to despair—
and so another nationhood is born.

And that’s a story that’s repeated, though
it’s hardly all there is to nation-states.
For that, you’ll have to read the books, because
the things we've written here are just a sketch.

So you can read of Europe's wars of sects
that lasted centuries, what issued thence—
and more, to puzzle out yourself the curse
that makes us battle those who're much like us.

******

We humans seek some others, whom we blame
for all the problems that we humans face.
By doing this, we shift the blame and then
rejoice in meting out the punishment.

So all our baser urges then are vented,
as we “unite” against this “proven enemy”.

And knowing human nature, those who strive
for wealth and power utilize these things,
as idiots gather in their mobs and rage
and wars break out—in this and every age.

So also, wealth and power, threatened, seek
deflection of the threats.  A foe is found,
perennial or new, that then distracts
the lumpen masses and obscures the truth.

******

The love of the land and people of one’s birth
or domicile is natural.  Love is good—
and even better when it is informed,
so knowledge and compassion both are guides.

But blind obedience and belief can lead,
like willful ignorance, to all that’s cursed—
and these together breed the troops that greed
and zealotry require to do their work.

Ambition in a man or woman is
at times a good thing.  Often, it is not—
for those of great ambition tend to climb
on others as they drive yet others on,
not heeding all the harm that hubris brings.

******

The tribal folk knew well their tribes, but we
belong to nations that we do not know,
because they were created recently
or are too large for us to know with ease.

Let’s get to know the country where we live—
the land, the peoples and the histories—
for we will find there’s more than one of each.

Let’s learn the names of places, plants and beasts
and speak the tongues in which the people speak.

Let’s sit with common folk and share their food,
the joys and woes that beings always have—
and let us do this, not for just a part
or portion of the land and people, but
as great a fraction as our lives permit.

And if indeed we truly do these things,
we then will surely find there’s much to like—
and also things we might be leery of.

And so it always is, with everything.
 
******

And if we do this, we will find the lines
that mark the borders—those are meaningless,
for genes and cultures both have flowed across,
as tends to happen when we humans meet.

And so within us are the genes of those
we’re told to view as foes—as enemies.
And in our tongues we find the words as well
that made the journeys over distances.

And so in food and music, so in clothes
and so in arts and crafts and sciences.

So does this mean that passports, visas will
now disappear, along with fences and
the armies and the wars that nations wage?

If it only it were so!  But yes—in time.

The cities of a country do not war,
and neither do its provinces—and so
in time the humans of the world will see
a country is the place they chance to be.

******

A city may have quarters, if it’s old—
or even new, where different settlers live.
This should not mean that people do not mix
and over time create such citizens
as view the city as their quarter true.

What mayhem there could be, if one declared,
“Brooklyn is for A’s, Manhattan B’s,
the Bronx and Queens and Staten Island—they’re
reserved for C’s and D’s and E’s.”

Yet that’s the basis for the “ethnic state”—
the worst thing that a nation-state can be.

******

Beware the empire in its red advance.
Beware its reign, with even more of blood—
and know that blood will flow at its collapse.

Resist the empires. These have drained the lands.
But do desist from building blinding walls.

Beware the madness of the nation state
that takes a fiction and creates a tribe—
and even more, beware the state that marks
the “self” and “other” with the stamp of tribe.

Let's love our countries as we do the earth,
but know we share the overarching sky
that sees us insects crawling down below
and claiming this or that as theirs, as if
we ants could own it, through our ignorance.

There is no virtue that a nation owns.
There is no vice that only is a tribe’s.

We’d see the blood on every nation’s hands,
if only we could read the histories
that lie unwritten by the ones who died.

2019, April 6, Sat. 
Brooklyn, New York
  

Saturday, February 16, 2019

The Lord of Deception


The Lord of Deception 



How many the flags, how many the songs!
How often the nations have hidden their wrongs
And pointed to those of the others, as flags
Were raised to the skies, with salutes and with songs!

There’s a chord within humans that is struck by these things,
So our eyes—they may water as the lead singer sings
And the words of the anthem and the fluttering flag—
They can lift up our hearts as our spirits find wings.

There’s a music that's martial that is truly an art—
With the swirl of the pipes, and the drums at the heart.
It can set our hearts pounding, as schoolchildren race
To see all the marchers, before they depart.

If only the virtues of citizens could
Be uplifted by flags and by songs as they should,
We might smile at these follies and not weep at the thought
Of the evils our Master has sold us as good.

******

The sister, she suffers; the brother, he dies.
The widow remembers her husband and sighs.
The orphans, they weep for the parents they lost,
As nations and empires are built upon lies.

Oh love, with your being, your land and your clan!
Be strong, like a woman!  Be brave, like a man!
Be a seeker of truth and a giver of love,
But turn from deception, as much as you can!

The truth is not simple—and yet it is true.
It’s waiting for me and it’s waiting for you.
Uncover the truth and discover its layers.
What’s right, by your heart and your reason, then do.

You aren’t a label—a religion or state.
Be mindful and turn from the madness of hate.
We were born from the stars that are burning on high,
But it’s we who are turning to decide on our fate.

******

Let us turn towards reason, let us turn towards love.
Let’s release, from its prison, that captive—the dove.
With peace in our hearts, let us see that our fates—
They are chosen by humans, not the stars up above.

How many, the hours that a parent has labored
For the children, with whom they in youth had been favored!
How hopeless, the feeling, at the death of a child,
Whose life, in its fullness, will never be savored!

How many—the parents, who have toiled and have grieved!
As the fruit of their labors, what have they received?
How many, the soldiers and others who’ve died—
By the slogans of empires and nations deceived!

Let the death of a friend and the death of a foe
Be equal—in that there should never be more
That are needlessly caused by the madness of sin
And the lies that are layered on the lying before.

******

Let nations and empires be things of the past.
Let us turn to our essence, from madness, at last.
The roar of the mill and the din of the war—
They’re the voice of the One, who from heaven was cast.

And here, on this planet, He’s been telling His lies.
For each that believes Him, another one dies.
He’s the Lord of Deception—and the flags and the songs
He has turned to His use—as we perish like flies.

And the sins we’ve committed, with falsehoods in mind,
Ensure that we’re damned—and with death we will find
We are trapped in the hell that we made for the others—
That they might have escaped, if we’d thought to be kind.

His name?  It is Mammon.  But His faces are many.
He is inked on the note and He’s scribed on the penny.
We march to His orders, not knowing they’re His.
If we beg Him for truth—He never has any.

******

The Lord of Deception?  A title, a name—
A way of describing the source of our shame, 
A personification, like Mammon, of all
That has led to this hell that is played like a game.
 
Our Master?  Our masters—for there isn't just one
They are making us play at this game that they've won
Again and again, and will win, till we see
That we lose even more, the harder we run.

The nation?  A deity, not fashioned from clay,
But rather from that which is current today—
From symbols like flags, and with borders on maps, 
And armies—and taxes for funding the play.

But it's Mammon that's driving the engines of war
And is making us less than the beings we are.
So bow not to Mammon or others on high!
It's love, and not hate, that will carry us far.

2019 February 5th, Tue. &16th, Sat. 
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York  
  

Saturday, November 17, 2018

Greedy Fools


Greedy Fools

If not for what we “human beings” have done,
The air today would be as fresh as that
Which humans breathed a thousand years ago.
The waters would be just as pure as then
And all the soils would be as free of taint
As when a beggar could be called a saint.
 
But now a beggar is a “bum”—no more—
Reviled as useless, hardly fit to live.
The soils are poisoned and infertile—dead.
The streams and lakes and oceans too are filled
With toxins, sludge and floating plastic waste.
The air is fouled and bears an acrid taste.

The myriad stars of night are seen no more,
As cities spread their squalor, glare and haze.
The myriad species melt away like snows
And continents are cleared of humans too.
And this is "progress", hailed and taught in schools—
In nations led by greedy, grabbing fools.

2018 November 17th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Saturday, September 8, 2018

The Silent Yelp


The Silent Yelp 


Of all the droughts with which we deal,
The ones within are worst.
These dry the well to which we turn
To slake our inner thirst.

We’re weakened by this thirst within
That leaves us parched and dry.
So those who once had strength collapse,
Without the tears to cry.

So what to do?  I do not know.
There’s Nature, work and love.
Some turn to help the ones in need
And some to gods above.

******

Of all the battles that we wage,
The ones that rage within
Are hardest, since we also lose
The battles that we win.

These rob us of our inner peace
And so disturb the mind
That what we once could fetch with ease,
We now no longer find.

So what to do?  I do not know.
Some brave the inner battle
And others shy from this and yet
Are slaughtered then like cattle.

******

When fear and anger dwell within
And will not go away,
We then are turned from grace to sin,
As flesh and mind decay.

So many sorrows have their roots
In anger, fear and greed,
As envy, hatred grow from shoots
To trees that spread their seed.

So what to do?  I do not know.
Our disciplines might help
But when these each have long dissolved,
Who hears the silent yelp?

******

So there it is.  The ones who wage
The wars they base on “facts”
Have demons they have nursed within
That guide their outward acts.

And those who crave yet more of wealth
And disregard the cost,
In lives of humans, beasts and plants,
To demons, long are lost.

So what to do?  I do not know.
To a demon, we may turn
And say, “How are you then, my friend?
I see how much you burn.”

******

We each must face our devils and
It’s better if they’re friends.
Instead of wars, we then can work
In peace, to make amends.

How many friends and kin are lost
From lack of eye and ear?
How many loves have been dissolved
And turned to rage and fear?

So what to do?  I do not know.
I wish I were a sage.
I pray that you’ll be wiser and
Have fewer wars to wage.

2018 September 8th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Saturday, June 2, 2018

Whither-II

 
Whither-II

The clouds were racing past the moon
that shone within a halo.
“Oh whither are you headed, clouds?”
I asked, in fascination.
They answered not.  They never do.
Such questions go unheeded.

I asked them once, I asked them twice,
I asked them yet again.
They did not answer—whither, whence
Or why—but raced ahead—
or was it back, or sideways?  Do
such things, for clouds, have meanings?

I wandered to the highway.  There,
I saw the cars were racing.
“Oh, whither, cars—and why this haste?”
I asked, in consternation.
They answered not.  They never do.
Such questions go unheeded.
 
2018 May 30th, Wed.
Brooklyn, New York
     

Wednesday, May 31, 2017

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 

Saturday, April 22, 2017

Mayar Dha~dha-মায়ার ধাঁধা-The Maze of Delusion

 
The truth is that every empire, nation, community, family and individual is capable of great cruelty, as also of great kindness. This has been demonstrated over and over again, and we are seeing it being demonstrated now, all over the world. We still need to speak out and act against the cruelty and to recognize and support the kindness.

However, those who see and feel beyond a narrowing of vision and of heart are always vilified. Those who work for the common good and against scapegoating, demonizing and division are inevitably labeled as foreign agents, traitors, etc. Sadly, it is the same in every country, in every age.

https://www.facebook.com/madhusree.mukerjee/posts/1488465891211160

https://www.facebook.com/arjun.janah/posts/10154561847215950

https://www.facebook.com/andrew.wickham.52/posts/10156083779321562 

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There are four sections of verse below:

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মায়ার ধাঁধা

আর্য় বলে, ‘ভজ তাদের,
যাদের চামড়া গোরা৷’
এ দেশী বলে, ‘বিদেশী, তুমি
সব মন্দের গোড়া৷’

ওগো মূর্খ, গোণো এবার
পুরোনো পাপের আয়৷
বিরাট পাপী, রাজা হয়ে,
রক্ত চুষে খায়৷

******

কত যে দুঃখ, কত যে কষ্ট,
মায়ার ধাঁধায় পড়ে!
নিজেকে মেরেছ,  নিজেকে নষ্ট
করেছ যুগযুগ ধরে৷

ফিরে চাইলে,  দেখবে সব ই
অকারণে করা৷
এত সৃষ্টির স্বত্ত্বেও, শুধু
বৃথা ভুগে ভুগে মরা৷

শনিবার, ২২ এপ্রিল, ২০১৭ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক
-------------------------------------------------------------

Māẏāra Dhām̐dhā

Ārẏa balē, 'Bhaja tādēra,
yādēra cāmaṛā gōrā'.
Ē dēśī balē, 'Bidēśī, tumi
saba mandēra gōṛā'.

Ōgō mūrkha, gōṇō ēbāra
purōnō pāpēra āẏa.
Birāṭa pāpī, rājā haẏē,
rakta cuṣē khāẏa.

******

Kata yē duḥkha, kata yē kaṣṭa,
māẏāra dhām̐dhāẏa paṛē!
Nijēkē mērēcha, nijēkē naṣṭa
karēcha yugayuga dharē.

Phirē cā'ilē, dēkhabē saba i
akāraṇē karā.
Ēta sr̥ṣṭira sbattbē'ō, śudhu
br̥thā bhugē bhugē marā.

Śanibāra, 22 Ēprila, 2017 Khri
Bruklina, Ni'uẏarka
-------------------------------------------------------------

Mayar Dha~dha

Arjo bo`le, “Bho`jo tader,
jader camr’a gora.”
E dexi bo`le, “Bidexi, tumi
xo`b monder gor’a.”

Ogo murkho, gon’o ebar
purono paper ae.
Birat’ papi, raja hoe,
ro`kto cuxe khae.

******

Ko`to je dukkho, jo`to je ko`xt’o,
mayar dha~dhae por’e!
Nijeke merecho, nijeke no`xt’o
korecho jugjug dhore.

Phire caile, dekhbe xo`b i
okaron’e ko`ra.
E`to srixt’ir xottheo, xudhu
britha bhuge bhuge mo`ra.

Xonibar, 22e Epril, 2017 Khri
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk
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The Maze of Delusion

The Arya made us understand
the curse of darker skin.
The patriot “knows” the foreign hand
is planting more of sin.

Oh foolish folk, now sit and count
the wages of your acts.
The greatest sinner now can mount
the throne and tout his “facts”.

******

How much of woe, how much of pain,
from racing through the maze!
We’ve injured self and soul again,
while caught in maya’s daze.

On looking back, we see that all
was done for no good reason.
So deep, this hole in which we fall
yet deeper, every season!

2017, April 22nd, Sat.
(translated May 12th, Sat.)
Brooklyn, New York
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https://www.facebook.com/madhusree.mukerjee/posts/1488465891211160 

https://www.facebook.com/arjun.janah/posts/10154561847215950

https://www.facebook.com/andrew.wickham.52/posts/10156083779321562

 

Monday, April 17, 2017

Humans

 
Humans
 
https://www.facebook.com/arjun.janah/posts/10154554801155950

We murder the children, we maim and we burn.
We follow the ones who give orders and funds.
And yet we lift strangers who're wounded and risk
our lives for the children who have nowhere to turn.

How hard are we humans, how cruel and mad!
How senseless our slaughters, how ruthless our drives!
But still, in the mayhem, we heal and we nurture.
We tend to that labor, no matter how sad.
 
2017 April 17th, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

Murkho Manux-মূর্খ মানুষ-We Foolish Men


This post consists of the following, in descending vertical order:

  • four lines in Bengali (মূর্খ মানুষ)
  • a Roman transcription (Mūrkha Mānuṣa) from http://translate.google.com;
  • a voice recording of the Bengali;*
  • a Roman transcription (Murkho Manux) as described at Bharot Xadhin;
  • an English translation (We Foolish Men).
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* A reasonable, prosaic voicing can now also be heard by:

  • copying and pasting the Bengali-script text into the left panel at the Google link given above (after selecting Bengali as the input language);
  • and then clicking on the speaker icon below that left panel.
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মূর্খ মানুষ 

হায় ভগবান, হায় আল্লাহ, 
হায় গৌতম, চৈতন্য!
মূর্খ মানুষ হয়েছে পাগল, 
নিজেকে করেছে অন্য৷

মঙ্গলবার, ৪ঠা মার্চ, ২০১৭ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক
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Mūrkha Mānuṣa

Hāẏa bhagabāna, hāẏa āllāha,
hāẏa gautama, caitan'ya!
Mūrkha mānuṣa haẏēchē pāgala,
nijēkē karēchē an'ya.

Maṅgalabāra, 4ṭhā Mārca, 2017 Khri
Bruklina, Ni'uẏarka
---------------------------------------------

Please click on the rounded triangular play-button on
the right to hear a voice recording. In some browsers,
you may have to click a second time. This might not
work on cellphones.  Adjust the volume on your device
as needed.


Record and upload voice >>
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Murkho Manux

Hae bho'goban, hae alla,
Hae goutom, coitonno!
Murkho manux hoeche pagol,
Nijeke koreche onno.

Mongolbar, 4t’ha Marc, 2017 Khri
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk
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We Foolish Men

Oh god, with all your many names,
Oh dear, departed brothers!
We foolish men have lost our minds,
And see ourselves as others.

2017 April 4th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York

Wednesday, November 9, 2016

There Still are Joys


There Still are Joys

The despots and the ogres spread their woe.
They wreck our lives and rob us of our peace.
Yet one by one, like each of us, they die,
and some are gloried still—or vilified.

I walked, the other day, upon the green
and felt the grass and earth beneath my feet.
I caught the scents of burning autumn leaves
and looking up I saw the changing sky.
 
Which tyrant, hurried by his need to win,
could quietly savor water, earth and air
as those, untroubled by such urges, could?
And yet, how many still might worship him.
 
So those, who seek their worth from inner fiends,
and those, who crave the world’s attention, vie,
while those, who suffer at their hands, perceive
there still are joys, as long as life persists.

2016 November 9th, Wed.
Brooklyn, New York, 4:27 pm
  

Saturday, August 27, 2016

Syria-II


Syria-II

I asked the one from Syria,
from al Sham, as he had said,
the reason why he’d left there,
and traveled here instead.

I had heard that he was drowning
but by luck had still survived.
From the cold Aegean waters,
he’d been pulled and then revived.

He looked at me in silence—
he didn’t speak a word,
for he didn’t know my language,
and my question was absurd.

So I left him where I’d found him,
and walking then I saw
the eyes that I had looked at
and that is when I saw.

So I stood there as if rooted
and I saw the world anew,
and it wasn’t as I’d known it
and I didn’t like the view.

So let me try to tell you,
if you’ll bear with me a bit,
as I sketch for you that vision,
if I even have the wit.

******

There is emptiness and dullness.
There’s the reason that is gone.
There’s the lack of any meaning.
There’s the numbness and the ache.

There’s the past that isn’t leaving,
there’s the present hell to bear.
There’s the hope that has departed
and the future of despair.

There’s bewilderment, confusion.
There’s the sleep that lasts awhile.
There’s the madness then that rises
and the fear that will not die.

There is shock and there is trauma
of the body, mind and heart.
There’s helplessness and trembling
and the orphan’s silent cry.

There’s the parent or the sibling
or the spouse who didn’t die.

And for all this, there are reasons—
for there must be reasons why.

******
 
So the arms are flowing freely
from the nations of the west,
through the sheikhdoms and through Turkey,
and the wars are raging still.

So the Russian jets are bombing
and the shells from all are bursting
and the cities lie in rubble
and the drones come in to kill.
 
So the Sunni and the Shia
and the Christian each would flee,
but there’s nowhere left to go to,
and the snipers shoot at will.

So the cannons still are booming
and the shells are coming near
and the planes again are diving
and the eyes are full of fear.

For there’s Assad and the rebels,
There’s al Nusra, ISIS, more.
There’s the U.S., France and Britain,
And they each have bombs galore.
 
******

Iraq was torn to pieces
and Libya was destroyed,
and Syria’s been on fire,
like Afghanistan before.

But who can dare to question—
to ask the reason why?

There’s hunger, thirst and hurting
and the itching and the fly,
and the games are on in Rio
and there’s more who’ve yet to die.

******
 
This is what I saw then
and I thought on it a while,
but then I looked and saw you
and so I had to smile.

So now that I have told you,
you can bear it till we go
to the shop there. There’s a salesman
you should really get to know.

2016 August 27th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
----------------------------------------------------
   
Related (from 2013 August, three years ago):  Syria
http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2013/08/syria.html

   

Thursday, August 25, 2016

A Space Exists


A Space Exists
 
Between the push and pull of fear, desire,
A space exists for wisdom, peace and love.
And in this space the waves of grief and joy
And all emotions, thoughts can come and go.

And yet, beneath those surface waves, there still
Remains a zone that's calm and unperturbed—
For currents strong may roil below the waves,
But there are depths in which we still are free.

But when we try to hold, preserve, maintain
The transient joys, entrapped by fear, desire,
We bring then woes upon our heads and those
Of others, losing sense and sanity.

And see—we’ve built ourselves a monstrous world
That runs on fear and greed, and so is fraught
With all the evils that the two, conjoined,
Engender, wreaking madness, mayhem, woe.

The vices that have long been recognized
Are seen as virtues, virtue viewed as vice.
Until such views reverse, we won’t regain
That space in which to breathe and see again.

We cannot know what happens far away,
Or even in our city or next door,
Except from what we’re fed—that filtered feed
That’s then polluted by the feeders’ views.

And so we each are more and more entrapped.
We’re caught, conditioned; then, as zombied slaves,
We race upon the tracks that power the mills
Of Mammon that are grinding all to dust.
 
And though the tools exist, for some at least,
To see beyond the bounds of space and time,
So many still are blinkered in their views,
As goads, incitements work to steer the herds.
 
What hope exists, except that each can still
Attempt to shed these strong constraints of view?
No liberator comes; no hope exists
Except from what we each can try to do.

No revolution can succeed until
We see the wheel that each is turning too.
No evolution towards a saner world
Can be, without that pivot each must do.
 
A space exists between the push and pull
Of fear, desire, in which our vision clears.
To clear that space of snares and clutter, we
Can labor, with our grants of strengths and years.

We each can try, in small and humble ways,
To change the world that all of us have built.
It isn’t god or nature that dictates
What humans do. Our minds are snared and trained.
 
Without the promise that we will succeed,
Without the premise that the work is light,
We each can labor, breathing deeply, while
We work from darkness towards the hope of light.

There is the outer world and that within,
And each affects the other in its turn.
There is a little sphere that pens us each—
But in ourselves the bounds are ours to reach.

We can’t control what happens in this world,
We can’t foresee the future, yet we each
Can still enjoy, within ourselves, that peace
Residing in that space that each can clear.

No matter what tomorrow takes or gives,
No matter what the past has done or been,
There’s still the moment that we’re granted now
In which to turn towards dark or towards the light.

2016 August 25th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Sunday, August 30, 2015

Slowing Can’t Be Right

 
Slowing Can’t Be Right 

How much of all our suffering is due
To speeding when we should be going slow?
We work and eat and couple now at speed
And rarely notice all the harm we do.

So some can thrive, with sense and conscience stilled,
While others suffer from their actions or
Perceive the things that go unheeded while
We're busy rushing through our hectic lives.

******
 
We live our lives of loneliness and fear
And seek our consolations where we can.
The sun may rise, the little birds may sing
And yet we sleep or go to work in dread.

We live in isolation, torn apart
By all the tempests blowing through our lives:
The storms of Nature and the works of Man—
What others do and what we do ourselves.

We’ve lost the arts of tolerance and fun.
We turn away from relatives and friends
And seek our entertainment and our worth
In things and places distant from our earths.

We learn to race, forgetting how to slow.
We spend our lives acquiring knowledge, things—
While losing wisdom and that freedom true
Of living like the ones still human do.

You’ll find them in the forests and the hills,
In regions far removed, on arctic ice
And in the places of the scorching sun,
Beleaguered now as they are pushed to die.

They do as belly and as conscience bids.
They live and die in goodly company.
They have no money. Their possessions, they
Can carry on their backs as lightest weight.

They pay no rent to landlords or to banks.
They answer to no bosses, being free.
There is, among them, neither “high” nor “low”.
They’re born, they smile and weep, and then they go.

And some might say that I romanticize
The lives of those that dwell in poverty.
But I reply, “What wealth could ever buy
The gems of love and of sincerity?”

And others still might say, “We disagree.
We would not trade our lives for such as these.
Besides, there isn’t room, upon this Earth,
To live as once we did, in misery.”

So each may view the grass that’s distant as
Of greener hue or less than that beneath.
And we might say, “The world is changing, so
We cannot now remain as once we were.”
 
But should we then surrender to the flow
That takes us where some others want us to?
Or should we say, “We still are beings free,
Who choose our lives to be as they could be?”

******

The one that halts, when all around stampede,
Might well be trampled on—and even die.
But when the wiser start to slow and turn,
We slowly could return to clarity.

The question is, “Will sanity prevail
Before our madness breeds catastrophe?
And some might say, “We’re told that’s happened, yet
We do not slow, for slowing can’t be right.”

2015 August 30th, Sun., 3:28 pm
(first two stanzas added Sep. 2nd, Wed.)
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
   

Sunday, August 9, 2015

Crushed


Crushed     

    
When faced with all the madness of our times—
the racing, debt and isolation, some
succumb to fear and then are paralyzed—
or else they run, bewildered, through their years. 

But others, savvier, can learn the game
and play it shrewdly to attain their ends.
And these become, quite often, those who herd
and drive the others, stepping up the pace.

******
  
Until we free ourselves, we’re doomed to be
as cogs upon the wheels of fear and greed.
But when we try to struggle loose, we find
we’re crushed—as would a cog that’s not of steel. 
  
It’s only when the juggernaut is slowed,
as one by one we see and we resist—
it’s only then that we at last can be,
from this, our ceaseless whirling bondage, free.

2015 August 6th, Thu. 6:15 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
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Note:  Three pictures follow.  You can click on any one to see all three in a gallery.  The second image will be enlarged, the third even more. Click on the white X at the top right of the black background to return to the post.

At the end of the post are links to some clips from the film "Modern Times", in which Charlie Chaplin's character attempts to fit into the industrial age.  I might add more as I find them.
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Time
https://www.eskimo.com/~recall/bleed/0911.htm


Joining the Labor Force
http://www.newstatesman.com/sci-tech/2014/08/new-luddites-why-former-digital-prophets-are-turning-against-tech


Chariot Wheel, Konarak Temple, Orissa, India.   Patrik M. Loeff, 2008
https://www.flickr.com/photos/bupia/2320134539/in/photostream/

Clips from Chaplin's movie Modern Times

1) a short clip (14:43) with excellent clarity of picture and sound:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tfw0KapQ3qw
  
2) a very short clip (1:49) on a central episode in 1, with picture quality not the best:
http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1sgls_modern-times-1936_fun 

3) Modern Times (1936)—the full movie (1:23:17)—but with speech dubbed in French:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_jLHVT0-GgM