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
 

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

Faith

Faith

When bribes and threats combine with endless lies,

And death and dread destroy our bodies, minds, 

What then sustains the life, the will to fight,

The strength to bear the blows—and all the pain?

What could it be, except conviction, faith—

The love that still sustains and still reminds

Our wretched souls that there can still be light

And all our endless work was not in vain?

******

So even if we do not live to see

The darkness yield as dawn ascends the east,

We still can strive so that that hour can be

That lights the eyes of those considered least.

So some deride the faith that gives us strength,

And others say it hardly will suffice

Against the foe of overwhelming might. 

And yet we turn to virtue, turn from vice.

****** 

So faith informs our hearts and minds and deeds.

Despite our errors, frailties, and needs,

We turn from hatred, turn from hardened hearts—

To practice courage—and the caring arts.

The outcome often can’t be known—and yet 

Our faith sustains us. Though we can’t forget

The pain inflicted by the heartless foe,

Our faith does not allow the hate to grow.

2025, February 21st, Fri.

Berkeley, California 

My Father’s Photographs of India

 
My Father’s Photographs of India

There's happiness and even joy
Within this world we’re in,
Yet measured out to just a few—
Or so it seems to me—

As humans, all together, shape
The human world and more,
With just a few in leading roles
And others pulled in line.

But when I look at photographs
My father once had taken,
Along with images of woe—
Of famines, riots, flights— 

And those of workers under stress
In factories, sewers, mines—
I see the faces—calm, composed,

And even smiling wide—

Of peasants in the villages
Among the hills and plains,
Of tribal folk in dignity—
Not bowed, but standing straight—

Of people living common lives—
But not in misery,
In poses, choreographed, it seems,
Within a flowing dance. 

******

The interruption of that dance—
The speeding of the pace—
The separation, competition—
Is what we humans face.

******   

Inequities of ages, borne
By those who worked the hardest—
Those still persist, but added on
Are pressures more destructive.

We each can shrug and say, “So what?”
Or say that this was destined,
Or pause, reflect, and ask if we
Have choices still for freedom.

That word—it once had resonance
And gave the people hope
In struggles that they fought and won
Or lost—while still persisting.

So every generation must
Do battle in its turn—
Not giving in to cynics or
To apathy or fear.

Yet those who care and those who dare
Are few and far between. 
The rest of us would rather shut
Our eyes to cruelest sins.

****** 

I see the images on screen
Of what is happening now—
And I am sickened to the core—
As long ago I’d been

When working with the refugees,
In nineteen-seventy-one,
Who’d left behind their homes and farms
To flee across a border.

How difficult it is for me,
Now even more than then,
To watch this manmade suffering,
And see no end in sight.

And yet, I look at photographs
My father took of those
Who died when people rose to greet
The “Naval Mutiny”.

And lo—the women, children, men,
Who lie there, stripped and dead,
With bullets through their heads or chests,
Are clothed in radiance.

2024 July 30th, Tue.
Berkeley, California

This Old Chap

 
This Old Chap 

This Old Chap

The weariness from lack of sleep,
The weariness from age,
And all the buffets borne before
Combine to blur the page.

And though he writes his verses still
And so avoids despair,
It seems his vision falters, fogs
And fades beyond repair.

And so the time has come, perhaps,
To take a quiet nap.
And then he might have strength for more—
This old, persistent chap.

And see—he dozes in his chair
And jerks from time to time.
And when he wakes, he’ll fix again
The meter, sound and rhyme.

2018 May 30th, Wed.
Brooklyn, New York
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