The Stories That We're Told

The Stories That We're Told

The stories that we're told omit
the most important things.
So we believe in devils and
in angels who have wings.

So Lucifer had fallen, since
he’d dared to irk the Lord
and Gabriel had smitten all
of Egypt with his sword.

But what is truth and what is myth,
in even things mundane,
depends on whether you're a Gaul,
a Roman or a Dane.

If Hindus were to follow what
Arjuna was advised,
whatever's left of principle
might then be compromised.

So also did Muhammad say
so many things, in turn,
that if we followed blindly, we
might all together burn.

But saying things like this will land
us quickly deep in trouble—
as also if we prick, by chance,
a nation's sainted bubble.

And most of all, if we attempt
to stand in Empire's way,
we'll each be told that we are mad
and then be hauled away.

2017 April 11th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York
  
https://www.facebook.com/arjun.janah/posts/10154534985165950 
 

Kaler Phondi

Kaler Phondi

Nodir dhare, chaeae boxe, jhilik dekhechi jo`ler,
Bo`rxa kale, xunechi dure kalo megher dak.
Karkhanate korechi cakri, xunechi go`rjon ko`ler.
Jo`njale xexe ahar khu~ji, t’hokrae kager jha~k.

Dupur be`lae, gache ut’he, per’echi peara, am.
Pata bhenge, xu~khechi to`khon brikkher xugo`ndho.
Xo`horer base, xu~khechi po`re dizel dhoa, gham.
Pulix theke pet’ani khe-e, karagare hoechi bo`ndo.

Cher’echi ga~e, poe`xar kho~je, xo`kol poribar.
Pe-echi cit’hi, ke~dechi dukkhe, roechi kajer bondi.
Pat’hiechi t’aka, maxer xexe, khet’e khet’e protibar,
Hariechi tobu, xo`bare ami – ei to kaler phondi.

Moner dukkhe, baki kichu t’aka d’obai xexe xo`b,
Pagol hoe, kajer xexe, nexae khu~ji mukti.
Nexar ghume, mrito priyo exe ko`re ko`loro`b.
Nexa cher’e, matha khure, xuni xei ba~car jukti.

******

Mone po`re bar-bar, jo`nmo jekhane.
Trene-base bhabi kal phirbo xekhane.
Bhexe jae maxgulo, boe jae bo`chor,
Kho`motar bhat’a axe – mojdur kator.

Ja kichu, gheme, kori tao rojkar,
Co`le na tate ar, kho`roc ajkar.
Ki kori, hae!  Phirbo ki dexe?
Chai hoe, nodi die phire jabo xexe…

Ei bhebe, cher’e di cakri o maena.
Tao dekhi, xo`b cher’e, xanti-t’a paina.
Gho`r theke rastae – bhik mangi khidete.
Khali pet’e durbo`l – xue pori mat’ite.

Pulix exe lathi mare, mare jore d’and’a.
Har gulo ge`lo bhabi.  Rat bo`ro t’hand’a.
Xonar ei banglae, hirer juger cihnno –
“Kaj kho~jo!” bo`le e`k, do`ea-maea bhinno.

Xombar, 30e  D’isembar, xo`kal 3:10
Benso`nharst’, Bruklin, Niu Io`rk
 

A Woman, Young -- Part II

A Woman, Young -- Part II

A memory remains
of California sun
and that brief incident,
that crossing of the paths
between that woman and
myself --
the ones we were
that morning,
long ago.

Unaccustomed as I was, to women, young,
who'd follow me and offer me a ride --
and insist on it, a stranger though I was ---
I did not know then what to do
except to walk away ---
perhaps especially as she
was beautiful,
attractive and vivacious,
and, at least with me, that day,
flirtatious in a friendly sort of way,
with a sunny innocence that lit her eyes
and a smile that played, like sunshine, on her face.

I did not know then how I should react.
And so, I stumbled and I walked away.

It might have been for the best.

I wonder, still,
how it just might have been
if only I were not
the solemn one that I
felt bound to be
that sunlit day.

I wonder too, just who she was,
that woman, young,
whose form had been revealed to me,
in wondrous nudity,
in morning's light --
that woman who
had followed me --
perhaps because our eyes had met
and she had sensed, as I had done,
a history, unreachable --
a musk
without a name --
and perhaps
a destiny
that turned out
not to be...

I wonder who she was,
that woman, young,
whom I remembered suddenly
this evening, thirty years
and very far away --
I wonder who she was --
and is --
that woman, now perhaps
no longer young...

I did not ask her name,
nor offer mine,
and nor did she,
despite her friendliness...

I wish her well,
and I also wish that I could say,
"I'm sorry that I was
a dolt that day."

2013  October 31, Thu.
Brooklyn
  
A Woman, Young -- Part I 

http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2013/10/a-woman-young.html 
 

The Stranger

The Stranger

Come, and I'll tell you a story,

As this is a rainy day.

Sit, and I'll tell you a story,

And the rain will go away.

******

 

In a village, once, by the ocean,

As the stormy season neared,

As the villagers stood near the ocean,

A strange little man appeared.

And the mothers and fathers and children,

Who were gathered there, by the sea,

Wondered, how, out of nowhere,

That stranger came to be.

And the bachelors and spinsters questioned,

As bachelors and spinsters do,

If the stranger who'd come was married

Or still was a bachelor too.

And the widowers there, and the widows,

They all had their questions, yes.

But none had the courage to ask him,

Though several attempted to guess.

But he walked by the gawkers in silence

And he never said a word.

But he stopped, as he was walking,

To shoo away a bird.

******

And every day, for a fortnight,

They would see him walking there.

And though they all were curious,

To greet him, none would dare.

For the villagers all were fearful

Of the ghosts and goblins 'round.

So they'd watch him walk in silence,

And they rarely made a sound.

But they'd note the way he was walking

And the way that he looked as he walked.

And some believed he was human,

But at greeting him, they balked.

He walked with his beard and his belly,

He walked with a waddling walk.

And the mothers, who saw him walking,

They talked their mothers' talk.

He walked by the side of the ocean,

He walked by the side of the sea.

And the fathers, who saw him walking,

Asked, “Who the heck is he?”

And the bachelors there and the spinsters,

And the widows and widowers too,

They would look at each other and whisper,

“Is he like me and you?”

He walked in the evening and morning,

He walked in the noonday sun.

And the children, who saw him walking,

To see him close, would run...

******

But the mothers would hiss out loudly,

And the fathers would growl out stern,

And the children, who'd been running,

Would stop and would return.

They wondered where he came from,

They wondered where he went.

Three miles to the neighboring village,

No lodgings, there, to rent...

But they weren't bred to be curious,

Those villagers down by the sea.

They'd bless themselves when they saw him,

And then they'd let him be.

He walked by the side of the ocean,

He walked in the sun and rain.

He looked at the waves on the ocean

And he looked at them again.

He walked with a cane that he carried

And he tapped with the cane on the ground.

The watchers could hear him walking

With a softly tapping sound.

Tap-tapety-tap, 

Tap-tap-tap.

Tap-tapety-tap, 

Tap-tap-tap...

And he always walked in silence,

As he never said a word.

But he'd stop, as he was walking,

To shoo away a bird.

******

On a day that was wild and stormy,

A ship had come sailing by.

And all of the village was fearful

That the sailors all would die.

And along came the man with the belly

And the beard and the tapping cane.

And he walked to a seaside jetty,

In the wind and whipping rain.

He stood by the sea, on the jetty,

And he waved, in the air, his cane.

And he almost lost his footing

But he waved it high again.

He stood by the sea, on the jetty,

And he loudly yelled out, “Shoo!”

And he waved his cane at the ocean

As a crazy man would do.

And as they were watching the madman,

As the villagers thought he was,

They all said, “Ooh!  What happened?”

And they said this loud, because...

The wind, it had died, of a sudden,

And the ocean, it was calm.

The clouds had fled, with their raining.

And the sun was shining warm...

The sails on the ship were drooping

On a calm and glassy sea.

There wasn't a wave on the ocean,

As far as eye could see...

******

They stared in their awe and amazement,

They scratched on their heads and behinds.

They turned up their palms and made noises.

They asked, “Are we out of our minds?”

And the man with the beard and the belly

And the waddling walk and the cane,

He walked by the side of the ocean

And he tapped the ground with his cane...

They could see that his belly was shaking.

They could hear him laughing loud.

And the children ran towards him,

In a cheering, yelling crowd.

But just as that crowd was approaching

The man with the belly and beard,

He twirled his cane in a circle

And he turned and disappeared.

And that is the end of the story,

Whether you like it or not,

Because, the rest of the story,

Your grandpa has forgot...

******

But go, look out through the window,

And go and stand by the door.

And you'll see that the sun is shining.

So go and play some more...

2013 July 9th, Tue.
(with a few stanzas inserted July 12th, Fri.)
Brooklyn