Showing posts with label Time of Day. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Time of Day. Show all posts

Thursday, August 15, 2024

To'khon ar e'khon-তখন আর এখন

  
তখন আর এখন
 
ডাল-পাতা সব দুলছে ধীরে, 
মৃদু বাতাস বয়। 
নীল আকাশে মেঘ দেখি না, 
গ্রীষ্মকালের জয়। 
 
দূরের দেশে রয়েছি আমি, 
আধা-শতাব্দী ধ’রে। 
তাও যে আজও দেশের আকাশ
মনে ভাসে, ওরে! 
.
ঋতুর সাথে বেশের বদল, 
ভোরের, সাঁঝের রং,
কালবৈশাখীর ঝোড়ো হাওয়া, 
মায়ের শ্রীয়ের ঢং—
.
পর্বত-সমান মেঘের চূড়ায়, 
চোখ-ধাঁধানো ফাঁক। 
নীল-সাদা সেই গগন-ক্ষেতে 
চীলের চড়তি পাক। 
 
ছাতে চড়ে ঘুড়ি ওড়াই,
প্রতিদিকে আলো। 
গ্রীষ্মকালের কড়া রোদে
পুড়ে হলাম কালো।
 
বর্ষাকালে, মেঘের সেনা,
বাজের ভীষণ ডাক। 
যুদ্ধের শেষে, হাজিরা জানায় 
ঝড়ে-ভেজা কাক। 
 
আজ রয়েছি, সেসব ছেড়ে, 
প্রশান্ত-সাগর-তীরে। 
বিকেল বেলার রোদে, দোয়া:
শান্তি আসুক ফিরে।
 
বৃহস্পতিবার, ১৫ অগাস্ট, ২০২৪ খ্রি.
বার্ক্লি, কালিফোর্নিয়া







 

Saturday, February 10, 2024

Po'taka lal-পতাকা লাল

 
পতাকা লাল

ভোরের আলোয় এসেছে আশা,
এসেছে সাহস, শান্তি। 
সাঁঝের বেলায় ফিরেছে ভীতি, 
ফিরেছে আলস, ক্লান্তি।

আঁধার-আলোর জোয়ার-ভাটায়
ভেসেছি জীবন ধ’রে। 
পেয়েছি দৃষ্টি, পেয়েছি শক্তি, 
দিয়েছি ভক্তি, ওরে! 

জীবন-সন্ধ্যের প্রবাহে, ক্রমশ,
চিত্তের করুণ হাল। 
পেয়েছি ফিরে, তবুও, ধীরে, 
পুরনো পতাকা, লাল।

শুক্রবার, ৯ ফেব্রুয়ারি, ২০২৪ খ্রি. 
বার্ক্লি, ক্যালিফর্নিয়া

Monday, October 9, 2023

Moruddip-মরুদ্বীপ


মরুদ্বীপ

সিমেন্টের ধূসর ফুটপাতে হেঁটেছি, 
কালো পিচের রাস্তা ধরে,
ব্যথিত পায়ে, ক্লান্ত দেহে, 
ম্লান চিত্তে, কত দশক ধরে,
বিদেশের শহুরে মরুভূমি-পথে।

সফরের মাঝে এসেছি কখনো
ছোটো কোনো মরুদ্বীপে,
যেখানে পেয়েছি কিছু বিরাম,
পেয়েছি সলিল, সান্তনা।

সেখানে, দুর্লভ কোনো বেঞ্চে বসে,
কম-দূষিত বাতাসের শ্বাস নিয়েছি।
প্রকৃতির সুগন্ধের সাথে শুঁকেছি
গাড়ির ইঞ্জিনের পাদের ঘ্রান।

******

তখন মনে হয়েছে যেনো
হয় শহরের চলতি কোলাহল 
কোনো কারনে বিদায় নিয়েছে,
নয়তো নিজেকে আমার ইচ্ছামতো
বদলাতে দিয়েছে। সকল হট্টগোল,
পাগলামি, ঠেলাঠেলি, তাড়াহুড়ো যেনো
সরে গেছে। রয়েছে শুধু—শান্তির স্বাদ।

রাস্তার গাড়ির আসা যাওয়া
যথাকালে যেনো হয়ে গেলো— 
মনোরম তীরের ঢেউয়ের ধুয়া।
উঁচু থেকে উড়োজাহাজের গর্জন 
হ’লো—দূর সমুদ্রতীরের ডাক।

আবার যেনো শুনতে পেলাম— 
এই জগতের শ্বাস-প্রশ্বাস।

******

তাই আজ, শরতের বিকেলে,
বাসা থেকে অনেক দূরে—
তাও পুরনো ঘরে ফিরে—
একটি বেঞ্চি খুঁজে পেয়ে,
তাতে আসন দখল করেছি।

সামনে দেখি, কিছু দূরে,
সূর্যের ঢালু কিরণ এসে 
পাইন-গাছে ঢেলেছে আলো।
সেই আশীর্বাদে যেনো
গাছটা পূর্ণ, পুলকিত।

আমি যেখানে বসে আছি,
সেখানে আরামে এক খেলা চলছে।
ছায়াযুক্ত কয়েক যুবক
নেচে-নেচে খেলছে আলোয়।
বল্-টাকে, একে একে হাতে তুলে,
পাঠাচ্ছে, ধনু-রেখো-পথে,
উঁচু বাস্কেটবল-হুপের খোঁজে।

বাস্কেটবল কোর্টের মেজেতে দেখি
নীল-সাদা-সবুজ রঙ।
মনে আসে এতে, আহা,
সেই হারানো দিনের কথা,
সেই আকাশ-অরণ্য-জল, 
সেই ধরিত্রী—প্রিয়, নির্মল।

পশ্চিমে, সূর্যের আলোয় আঁকা,
ক’টা চেনে-বাঁধা কুকুরের সহ,
এক দল মহিলার চলাফেরা।

আরো দূর থেকে শোনা যাচ্ছে,
শরতের রোদে, শিশুদের খেলা।

******

এই জগতের লীলার মাঝে 
একটু বিরতি, একটু বিরাম, 
কিছুটা আলগা হওয়ার কাল—
কুকুরের সাথে, মানুষের সাথে,
এই বিকেলের রৌদ্রে নাচন—
নয়তো শুধু আলোয় স্নান।

এমন সময় দেখি যে আবার—
দেখছে হেঁসে, আমার দিকে,
সেই পুরনো বন্ধু আমার—
নগরের ভিড়ে হারানো আমি।

******

জানি, এই দিনের আলোর শেষে,
সন্ধ্যে আসবে, ফিসফিসিয়ে। 
তারাভরা আকাশগঙ্গা যেমন, 
তেমনই জ্বলে উঠবে তখন
শহুরে রাস্তার আলোর মালা।

দিনের ম্লান আভা যখন
পশ্চিমে মৃত্যুশয়নে—যখন 
বাকি মানুষ ঘরে চলে গেছে—
শুনতে পাবো আবার তখন,
এই আমার পুরনো বাসায়,
ঝিঁঝিদের সাঁঝের সঙ্গীত।

এইভাবে, নগর-সাগরে, আজও,
এই বাকি ছোটো দ্বীপে,
সেই চিরন্তন চক্র চলে।

জীবন ধরে, পেয়েছি এতে
ঝড়ের মাঝে রেহাই কিছু,
বিরোধের মাঝে শান্তি।

আমারই মতন, আরো কত জন
ফিরে পেয়েছে প্রাণ?
দিনের আলোর শেষ বিদায়ে
শুনেছে ঝিঁঝির গান?

এমনই মঠে, বুদ্ধ ব’সে,
পেয়েছিল নির্বাণ।

ওহ্লোন পার্ক (হার্সট আর মাক্গী রাস্তার মোড়ের কাছে)
বার্ক্লি, ক্যালিফোর্নিয়া
বুধবার, ৪ অক্টোবর, ২০২৩ খ্রিস্টাব্দ
(বাংলায় অনুবাদ: ৮ অক্টোবর)

-------------------------------------------------------------------
This is a translation, into Bengali, of the poem: Scattered Greens

Thursday, October 5, 2023

The Scattered Greens

 
The Scattered Greens

Within the cities, with their asphalt roads
And concrete sidewalks, hard on aging feet,
With neither giving sustenance to souls, 
I've sought my solace in the scattered greens.

And sitting there, upon a precious bench, 
I've breathed the less-polluted air—with scents 
Of Nature mixed with vents from vehicles.

And in those places, at those times, it seemed
The city's clamor paused, for just a while,
Or somehow let the mind transform its din—
As all the madness, with its press and rush
Receded, so one savored peace at last.

In time, the sounds of passing cars were changed
To those of waves upon a pleasant shore, 
And drones of airplanes high above became 
The muted roars of distant wind and surf—
As if one heard again the breath of Earth.

******

And so today, on an autumn afternoon, 
Afar from home—and yet at home again— 
I've found a bench and occupied a seat—
As slanting golden sun delights a pine
And youths with trailing shadows dance within 
A court—that’s  painted blue and white and green,
Reminding one of sky and earth serene—
To take their turns at arcing spheres at hoops.

Towards the west, the sunlight silhouettes
A group of women, moving with their dogs. 
And from behind them, I can hear the cries 
Of children playing in the autumn sun. 

A time to pause, to just relax and be—
With all the greens of plants, the blues of sky,
With dogs and humans, prancing in the sun—
Or simply soaking in the wash of light.

A time to find—or glimpse again—that me 
That I had lost among the cities’ streets—
And now appears to look at me and smile.

****** 

I know, as sunset yields to dusk and then—
With streetlights coming on like stars and just
That fading glow that tinges western skies,
The humans here will melt away and I
Will hear the crickets start their choruses.

And so the cycles of the days persist
Within the cities—in their remnant greens.
And this has been a source of peace to me—
And surely others, sailing urban seas.   

2023, October 4th, Wednesday.
Ohlone Park, near Hearst & McGee
Berkeley, California


Tuesday, November 20, 2018

Brooklyn at Dusk


Brooklyn at Dusk

It was mid-November, here at Brooklyn’s edge,
Where land and ocean meet—and city folk,
Returning home, can see the sky again.
And so I’d paused awhile, beside the door,
As I had done so many times before.

The day was ending and the air was chill.
The clouds had covered up the sky in grays.
I watched them moving, slowly, west to east.
The trees had very little left of leaves.
They stood outlined, with all their limbs revealed.

And as I watched, the light of day was drained
And in its place there came the gloom of eve.
I felt a sadness, yet I sensed a calm,
As all the hustle of the city ebbed—
And one by one I saw the stars again.

2018 November 20th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Tuesday, October 23, 2018

The Evening Show


The Evening Show 
  
unfinished
I saw the moon beneath the drifting clouds,
above the city’s lights, at eventide.
The clouds were dark, the moon a shining orb
and all the sky a stage for this display—
until the clouds had veiled the moon again.

And then, beneath that shrouded moon, I saw
a blinking firefly-plane go sailing by.

And as I watched, the moon peeked in and out—
a lamp suspended in the eastern sky,
as clouds, like wind-tossed curtains, parted, closed—
and I stood staring, through the city’s lights.

2018 October 22nd, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Thursday, August 2, 2018

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.

Thursday, October 13, 2016

The Ever Changing Sky


The Ever Changing Sky

The moon was shining as I swept the yard—
A gibbous moon that hung there in the sky.
Its lantern light, from time to time, was dimmed
By fleets of clouds that floated swiftly by.

I swept that moonlit backyard free of leaves,
But when the shadows came, I looked on high
And watched that act of light and dark within
That play that is the ever-changing sky.
 
How many eyes have watched that circus-stage
Yet never seen an act that was the same
As one before?  The hours and seasons ride
A horse that none of them can tame.

In darkness and in silver light, I swept
The driveway through—and ventured in the front,
And there was struck by light from LED’s—
The city’s streetlights, given to affront.
 
And next I swept the sidewalk and the yard
In front, till all my bags were filled up high.
That done, I paused to take a little break—
To breathe and look up at that changing sky.

I saw the clouds were streaming close, in force,
And threatened then to overwhelm the moon.
A breeze was blowing, shaking branches, so
I knew my work would be negated soon.

I shivered, as the night grew colder and
The moon was hidden by the crowded fleet.
So Priam, as he gazed at Grecian sails,
Could well have done, from fear of Troy’s defeat.
 
2016 October 13th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Sunday, September 18, 2016

Autumn Afternoon


Autumn Afternoon

The summer should have ended. It is now mid-September, but the warmth remains. It’s only in the early mornings that we feel at times the season’s warning chill.

The memory of winter, faded through the year, revives. The laxness of the summer’s days is now replaced by tightening. The reaper comes, although the trees and all resist.

An autumn afternoon, within the park: the sun is slanting through the leafy trees; it could be summer, but the heat is gone, the shorts are scarce—and the grounds are strewn with leaves.

The adults and the children stroll and play—as elders, on the benches, contemplate. The sky is bright, although the sun swings low. The grass has faded from the lack of rain.

A breeze stirs up the dust. It’s lit by sun that falls, in shafts, upon the yellowed grass beneath the trees. Those trees are mostly green, with just a few that now are losing leaves.
 
The days have shortened. Soon, the sun will set. Then all the lamps that line the path around the central lawn will glow, as dusk descends—and children leave the park to those like me.

2016 September 17th, Sat., 6:20 pm
Bensonhurst Park, Brooklyn, New York 
(2nd & 4th stanzas added Sep. 18th)
 

Tuesday, June 23, 2015

Ablaze


Ablaze

At the solstice, as the summer sun
was fiercely beating on the city’s streets,
I stood beside the bus stop for a while
and then took shelter underneath a tree.

And from that shade I looked around and saw
that roads and sidewalks both appeared ablaze.

And yet, amidst the flames, the people stood
with squinted eyes and peered and craned their necks,
impatient for the bus and its cooling bliss—
an air-conditioned heaven, sent on wheels.

But when it came, the bus was crowded, with
a press of bodies, radiating heat—
the women with their curving flesh exposed,
the bearded Jews, perspiring in their suits,
and all the others, from around the world,
as if about to fuse from summer’s heat.
 
I stood and breathed the humid air and thought,
in time, I will be home and free from this.
 
There was no a.c. in our flat. The fan
was only in the kitchen, waiting, still.
But I could strip off all my sweaty clothes
and in my vest and shorts await the eve.
 
And with that thought in mind, I stood and swayed,
from time to time in touch with a neighbor’s skin,
as damp as mine and just as warm or more,
as Brooklyn's south passed by, by summer lit.
   
2015 June 23rd, Tue, around 3:45 to 4:15 pm
(returning home to Bensonhurst from grading NY State examinations at Grady High School in Brighton Beach, waiting first at the bus stop on Ocean Parkway and then riding on the B1 bus, which runs locally along Ocean Pkwy, Ave and 86th Street) 
southwestern Brooklyn, New York
    

Tuesday, October 21, 2014

Urban Epiphany

    
Urban Epiphany

    
On exiting the school, he saw the sky
And then the row of tall, majestic trees
That lined the street, beside the football field.
He stood and quietly looked awhile at these.
 
He saw – the trunks that dwarfed the ones like him,
The mighty arms outspread – as tentacles
That reached towards the light for nourishment,
The branches, twigs – the leaves, by autumn crisped…
 
He stood and stared awhile, and went his way,
A little being, walking to his nest,
Humbled by the trees – that would remain,
When he and those he knew were memories…
  
He trudged along, a weary working man
Who trundled home his workload for the eve.
And in the concrete “park”, he stopped to sit
And pen these lines and slowly sip his tea.
  
And as he writes of what he saw and felt,
The sky has darkened much. The traffic lights
Are flashing yellow, red and green –
And silhouettes are heading home, like him...
  
On reaching home, he’ll sit and type these lines
And post them in the ether, there to stay
Awhile, be read, perhaps, then fade away –
As even trees are lost, like men and leaves…
   
2014 October 21st, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Milestone Park

    
Milestone Park             \1
 
Two lovers sit upon a wooden bench.
They cuddle, disengage – and snuggle more.
But then the man takes out his smart-phone and
they both appear, by what’s within, entranced.
 
And right by them, an older person sits
and reads his book – as with this toothless gums
he masticates the soft white bread he pulls
from deep within a bag that’s by his side.
 
And both of these – the lovers and the one
who quietly reads – enjoy the light and shade
that dapples now the urban “park”, where these
and others sit or stroll, in slanting sun…
 
But here’s a woman, far in years advanced,
who leans upon a “walker”, seeking what
I had at first supposed was just a seat,
until she rummaged in a garbage bin…
 
From China, she appears to be and she
confirms to what we’ve long been witnessing –
that discontent with sitting idly and
that urge to work – and earn – that drives her “race”.   \2
 
But here are others, speaking Russian, who
may hail from Europe or from Asia’s steppes –
and they are gathered by a game of chess,               \3
whose moves are much as ancient Indians played…
 
And here are Latins, Jews and Arabs and
so many others from the distant lands –
and here, in Brooklyn, as the sun declines,
they sit or walk in peace, and speak their tongues.

It’s time for me to leave.  The western sun
is warm upon my neck as I rise up.
I turn and gather up my notebook, bag –
and look around this wondrous urban “park”.

2014 July 30th, Wed., 6:30 pm
Milestone Park 
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York


1.  Milestone Park is a paved public area, rather squalid,
     on one side of 18th Ave, between 83rd & 84th Streets
     in the Bensonhurst neighborhood of Brooklyn.  This
     “park” has a fenced children’s playground at one end.
     The rest of the area is unfenced, and has some trees,
     tables and benches. That is where I sat and wrote this.

2.  Bottles and soda cans marked for recycling fetch five
     cents each at recycling centers.  So twenty such yield
     a dollar of income for those folk, mostly older Chinese
     women, who walk the streets all day, gathering these
     items from garbage bins and bags.

3.   After I had written my description of the goings-on in
      the park in my notebook, I decided to walk around the
      city “park” and, among other things, see, for my increasingly
      short-sighted self, what that group of “Russian speakers”
      and other such groups were really doing. I found seven
      such groups, each gathered around a game, with a few
      core players in each case and others watching silently or
      acting as cheerleaders and advisers.
          
      Only one of these groups was, indeed, made up of Russian-
      -speakers.  These were the only ones playing chess.  Four
      of the groups had people speaking various dialects of
      Chinese.  There was one small group of Vietnamese and
      another of Albanians. 
            
       All of the participants were either middle-aged or elderly.
                    
        Most of the Chinese women were busy at cards, with
        dollars being slapped down on the tables as incentive. 
        Two groups of Chinese men were focused on the slow,
        deliberate moves of what appeared to be the schematically
        simple but mentally complex game known in Japan as “Go”. 
        The Albanians were playing, on a checker-board, a game
        that had Scrabble-like racks and pieces, but with symbols
        instead of letters.  They told me the name of their game,
        but I have forgotten it.
  

Saturday, April 5, 2014

Floating Free

  
Floating Free
 

I saw the crescent moon and Jupiter
Above the city’s lights, behind a tree.
And though the night was freezing cold, I stood
And watched my silent spirit floating free.
 
******
 
And I was left, bereft and small below,
Until at last the spirit had returned.
And only so could I then move again
And slowly walk towards my home, restored.

How often, when the tides of air had cleared
Away the city’s hazy murk, have I
Looked up and seen, within the crystal dark,
The orbs on high ablaze like beacon-fires.

And every time I’ve seen those fires above,
In every season, I have stood transfixed,
As memories, perhaps of eons past,
Arose, as awe becalmed my beating heart.
 
******
  
I saw tonight the moon, with planet, stars,
In winter glory, bright behind a tree.
And while I shivered as I gazed on high,
I saw a specter rise – my spirit, free.

2014 April 5th, Sat. 11:25 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
   

Tuesday, April 1, 2014

Two Beings

 
Preface (Walking to Work and Back, 2014)
  
Two Beings
  
When all the madness of my “working day”
Has ended and I step outside the school,
I breathe the air that blows in from the sea
And see the trees against the evening sky.
And so my jangled nerves are set at ease,
As all my scattered parts are gathered slow.
And drinking in the evening’s beauty, I
Am whole again – and homewards, tranquil, go.

In every season, as the heavens change,
I watch the skies and see the clouds and stars,
The light that slants upon the autumn leaves
Or sets afire the tender ones of spring.
I see the dogs, the cats, the ones like me
And little birds that fly to roost in trees.
And as I walk, I’m filled with wonderment,
As tense fatigue gives way to sanity.

******

And though I trundle home a heavy load,
It often happens that it lies till dawn.
And when I wake and sally forth to work,
My head is filled with buzzing puzzlement.
But then my “workday” at the school begins,
And close to forty years of work kick in.
I see the children, one by one, come in,
And I teach my classes five, as others do.

In all my work before I started this,
I worked my miracles, however small,
And after joining as a teacher, I
Saw yet more wonders as I taught at school.
But many arduous years have passed of this,
And more and more, I find myself a fool,
As all my instincts, all my heart and soul
Rebel – at what no mortal mere can do.

2014 April 1, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York


Preface (Walking to Work and Back, 2014)

Related:  Signs of Spring (March 30th), We Call for Spring (March 9th).
For earlier poems, please type in the word "spring" in the small search box in the upper right corner of the blue top-menu bar (visible if you scroll up). Then press the "Enter" key on your keyboard.
 

Friday, February 14, 2014

Reflections on a Tree

   
Reflections on a Tree
  
While slowly walking home this evening, I
Observed a tree that reached towards the sky.
It stood, with all its myriad fingers splayed,
And to a winter moon, in silence prayed.

I wondered if that still and silent tree
Was linked, by consciousness, to you and me.
It stood, beneath the sun and moon and stars,
A witness to our lives and loves and wars.

And surely it cared little for our kind,
That prides itself on nimbleness of mind,
While knowing more, of light and earth and air,
Than you or I could ever know or care.

But if in truth, of mind there is but one,
It shared with us, who hither, thither run,
That same awareness, but of aspect slowed,
While standing still, beside a city road.

2014 February 14th, Fri. 7:54 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York