Saintliness and Sin

   

Saintliness and Sin

 

Is it possible, within the city's

Bustle, to be quiet—

To walk or sit in peace amidst

The clamor of the riot?

 

I had often tried to do this, tried to

Slow from moving fast—

To pause and breathe and gather in—

Although this didn’t last.

 

And though one thing or other

Would come and prick my bubble,

If I’d ever stalled within this,

I could be in bigger trouble.

 

To disengage from madnesses

Of fear or scorn or rage

Invites, alas, no kindnesses

From those who still engage. 

  

Within a mass hysteria,

As in a mad stampede,

Whoever tries to slow or stop

Is trampled well indeed!

  

******

 

There’s the yin within the yang and there's

The yang within the yin.

So day and night can alternate

And saintliness and sin.

 

And so I laugh when fit to cry

And weep as I am smiling.

I venture out in stormy rain

And run in when it’s shining.

 

I listen to our “enemies”,

I question all our wars

And hum my verse to Venus when

The others sing to Mars.

 

I see the sides to everything

As often as I can.

I see the Muslim in the Jew,

The woman in the man.

 

But still I cannot slow enough,

Within the rush we’re in,

To be at peace as wars abound—

Be clear amidst the sin.

 

2025 Nov. 13, Thu.

(4th, 5th, & last 2 quatrains, Nov. 19)

Berkeley, California

 

Rounds

 

Rounds

The skies of sunlit days have blues and whites

That give us cause to simply breathe and be.

The skies of moonless nights are dark, with lights

As distant as unaided eyes can see.

*******

There comes the dawn—that rising sun again—

And then the morning, noon, and afternoon,

And then the dusk—and then that night again,

Until the time that often comes too soon—

Or just in time for some, for others late,

When silently we’re told it’s time to end

The rounds that mark our lives and yield to fate—

To start the sleep that then will never end.

We know what waits us, yet we live as though

The day that is a life will be as bright,

As life proceeds, as in its fullest glow—

Until we see its evening turn to night.

******

******

How many rounds before, how many after

The current round of hours, of seasons, years?

How many smiles, how much of merry laughter?

How much of pain, how many more of tears?

****** 

Our lives are threaded through with darkness, light—

With joy and sorrow, pleasure braiding pain.

And so we weep and so we know delight—

As hunger makes us savor food again.

A life to live—and then to leave—ah yes—

With eyes that saw the sun and moon and stars,

With rounds enlivened by the human mess

But blighted sore by lies and endless wars!

So just as night and day are needed, both,

So also might be all our joy and grief—

Like sleep and waking, diligence and sloth,

Like thirst and quenching, reason and belief.

2025, April 11th, Fri.

Berkeley, California 

Ba~xir D'ak-বাঁশির ডাক

 

বাঁশির ডাক 
 
নিষ্ঠুরতার কোনো সীমা নেই।
অত্যাচারের রাজ
শেষ হবে না কাল-পরশু,
চলছে জোরে আজ।
 
হত্যা-কাণ্ড ঘটছে সদা।
ধ্বংসে, ক্রোধের জয়।
কত জীবের, জীবন ধরে,
দুঃখ, পীড়ন, ভয়!
 
******
 
তবুও দিন আর রাতের লীলা।
তবুও ভালোবাসা।
অন্ধকারের গর্ভে তবু
ভোরের আলোর আশা।
 
তবুও দয়া, তবুও মায়া।
তবুও সত্যের খোঁজ।
তবুও সাহস। বাঁশির ডাকে
চেষ্টা চলেছে রোজ।
 
সোমবার, ২২ জুলাই, ২০২৪ খ্রি
বার্ক্লি, কালিফোর্নিয়া
 

Yin and Yang-2024 July

 .
Yin and Yang (2024 July)
.
The predator attacks the prey,
The parasite, the host—
And sea and land and air in turn
Convulse and take their tolls.
.
We humans feast on plants and beasts
And torture both of these.
The facts of life on Planet Earth
Were not designed to please.
.
****** 
.
And yet, there still is happiness
And pleasure mixed with pain,
And moments, both, of utter grief
And purest joy and bliss.
.
So smiles and laughter alternate
With worries, frowns and tears;
So hunger stokes the appetite,
As distance strengthens bonds.
.
******
.
So sorrows deepen shallow minds, 
And pleasures lull awareness. 
Yet age may not let wisdom in,
And tyrants live the longest.
.
We turn from things unpleasant, so
This lets those fester more.
There’s good and bad in all of us.
Cartoons precede the gore.
.
****** 
.
And yet there still are thoughtful men
And women in the world,
And children try to comfort those
That they perceive as hurt.
.
And parents labor hard to feed
And rear their little broods,
And some who're aged or ailing still
Are cared for in their turns. 
.
******
.
The greens of trees appear serene;
The blues of skies delight.
The yellow blooms that dance in winds
Can turn our moods to bright.
.
And see, amidst the massacres
And cruelties and woes,
The light of caring still persists
As courage fights its foes.
.
****** 
.
The yang within the yin—and deep
Within the yin, the yang.
So good and evil intertwine,
As light and darkness do.
.
We can choose to turn to darkness
And to speed the spread of hate—
Or turn towards the light, before 
That turning comes too late.
.
2024 July 17th, Wed.
Berkeley, California
.

Khel-খেল-2024-05-27

 .
খেল
.
বিষের থেকে মধু আসে, 
মধুর থেকে বিষ। 
আঁধার রাতে আলো ভাসে, 
দিনদুপুরে, নিশি। 
.

****** 

.
সুখের দিনে কান্না আসে, 
দুখের মাঝে হাসি। 
প্রিয় আশার মরণ দেখেও, 
চিত্তে বাজে বাঁশি। 
.
এক পা এগোয়ে, দু’ পা পেছোয়ে। 
এইতো ঝুঁকির খেল। 
ধূর্তের পাতে সুখ-দৌলত, 
সাধুর ভাগ্যে জেল। 
.

****** 

.
অবহেলার মরুতে, যত্নের শিশির।
ক্রূরতার মাঝে দয়া। 
নিরাশার রাতে, মুক্তির গীতি। 
তাতেই পীড়ন সহা।
.
সোমবার ২৭ মে, ২০২৪ খ্রি.  
বার্ক্লি, কালিফোর্নিয়া 
.

Light and Shade / Darkness and Light

 
Light and Shade / Darkness and Light

Within the moonshine, cool, of night—
The heat of the noonday sun.
Along with kindness in the heart—
The cruelty and rage.

From hellfire, comes the scented breeze
That blows through paradise.
The civil and the barbarous
Are marching side by side. 

In every faith, there is the bad
Along with all the good.

On one side, dwells the darkness deep—

On the other side—the light.

In every country, you will find
The virtuous and kind—
And yet, a history that is bathed
In mayhem’s tides of blood. 

In every heart, an angel sits
And also, by its side,
A demon too, that rears and wreaks
Its malice and its wrath.

The breathing in, the breathing out,
The yin—within the yang—

Within the yin. So heat and cold
Are poles—and light and dark. 

2023 March 11, Sat.
Berkeley, California

Translated from the Bengali, 
A~dhar-Alo (Darkness and Light),
of 2019, March 10, Fri.

আঁধার আলো (A~dhar-Alo)

Thanks to John Blee for urging me
to do a translation into English. 

This resulting translation (done four years after 
the Bengali original) has a last stanza that was 
added on. It arose from discussions with 
John Blee and others about duality, etc.

Yin and Yang-2022-11-14

Yin and Yang (2022-11-14)
 
Wins are glorious, losses hard to bear.
The ego waxes—or the ego wanes.
Pride and courage cede to shame and fear.
When self is lost, what essence still remains?
 
The world we live in is a cruel place—
And so it was before we humans spread
Our special blight across the planet’s face—
And so it will be when we all are dead.
 
And yet, for every cruelty, we still can find
In humans, like in other beings, this—
The presence, often quiet, of an action kind—
And so, for every bruise, a touch of bliss.
 
Can “light” be known, without its counter, “dark”?
So kindness and its opposite are twinned,
And every color in the rainbow’s arc
Has tinged the ones who’re graced—and those who’ve sinned.
 
So yang and yin are nestled, each in each—
And good and evil too are born as twins.
And this we learn—and try in turn to teach—
The one who loses beats the one who wins—
 
For loss can give us depth of mind and heart,
And winning lead to hubris, which, in turn,
Can cloud the eye and dull the hearer’s art.
The plant that eats the sun will also burn.
 
In troubled times, it might become the norm
To seek a magic potion, spell or charm.
And yet, beneath the roiling of the storm,
There flows the ocean deep—with all its calm.
 
2022 November 14, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York

A~dhar alo-আঁধার আলো

আঁধার আলো

শীতল রাতের চাঁদের আলোয়, 
দুপুর বেলার রোদ।
বুকে যেমন দয়া আছে, 
তেমনি আছে ক্রোধ।
 
জাহান্নম আর নরক থেকে, 
স্বর্গের হাওয়া আসে। 
সভ্যতা আর বর্বরতা 
চলছে পাশে পাশে।
 
সব ধর্মে খারাপ আছে, 
সব ধর্মে ভালো। 
একদিকে, সেই অন্ধকার।
আরেক দিকে আলো।
 
প্রতি দেশে পাবে খুঁজে 
কত খাঁটি গুণী। 
সেই দেশেরই ইতিহাসে, 
রক্ত, খুনাখুনি।
 
পরী ফেরেশতা আছে বসে,  
সব মানুষের বুকে। 
তারি পাশে রাক্ষস আছে, 
হিংসের ওপর ঝুঁকে।
 
রবিবার, ১০ মার্চ, ২০১৯ খ্রি 
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউ ইয়র্ক

Futility-II

Futility-II

When sense and nonsense are so intermixed
That their untangling isn't worth our while,
We either then can make yet more of knots,
Or else can shake our heads and sadly smile.

So wisdom here resides in prudence, yet,
Too often, we attempt such tasks in vain—
For being mortals, we in time forget
And so repeat our errors once again.

And so it is with much that dogs our days,
As lessons we should earlier have learned
Appear to us as new, and so we make
The same mistakes and yet again are burned.

So some are not content with peace and try
To then procure such things as lead to war.
And those of wisdom and of heart may cry
Out loud—but cannot change how humans are.

Futility!  We meet you, by and by,
No matter what our gifts or fortunes be.
And some may meet you early, others late,
But you are always there, for those who see.

******

And yet, too easily, your children turn
To refuge in your bosom, spurning those
Who seek redress or cure for all the things
That need addressing in this world of woes.

They might have found, instead of you, that Hope
Or Faith or Courage that have given birth
To all endeavors that had sought for light
Amidst the darkness of afflicted Earth.

And let us pray that there's a balance still
Between that prudence that might save our lives
And that rebellion that is needed when
We find ourselves constrained in manmade hives.

You are the earth to which we all descend—
The dust that fills the mouths of those who die
As they are felled in battlefields or beds.
And yet, I draw my breath and say, “You lie.”

2017 November 26th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York
  

Contradictions-II

Contradictions-II 

https://www.facebook.com/andrew.wickham.52/posts/10156054098866562 

How strange are men and women! We
have humors mixed within.
And so by day we're sainted, yet
at night we're mired in sin.

******
 
My father was a gentle man.
He never raised his hand
against us, yet at times his acts
were hard to understand.

My mother was admired, beloved,
except by those sans heart.
And yet she made us suffer, though
without design or art.

My sister had a star within
that shone in all she did.
And yet, within the dark, too soon,
she bravely went and hid.

How strange indeed I am myself.
I've never carried malice.
But still, I've caused my troubles by
refraining from the chalice.

And so it is with everyone
and so it is with all.
We climb up to the shining peaks,
and then, in turn, we fall.

So those that seemed so pure, we learn,
are hardly free from taints.
And those we saw as sinners have,
at times, exceeded saints.

From contradictions, though we seek,
we rarely find release.
But now my rhymes grow tiring and
it's time for me to cease.
 
******
 
Within the yin, the yang resides;
within the yang, the yin.
So also, love and hate are twined,
and grace is tied to sin.

2017 April 16th, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York

  

Light and Shade

Light and Shade 

https://www.facebook.com/wendell.pye/posts/1736121643081412

What can I add, except to say
We greet the dawn that starts the day,
But then, when sunset comes, we sigh,
For night, and all it means, is nigh.

We sigh in pleasure as in pain.
We grimace and we laugh again.
So sorrow too is part of life.
If joy's the husband, she's the wife.

And now before you tire of this,
I should retire and wish you bliss.
We suffer pain and wish we'd die,
And moan and ask for reasons why.

What reason can we find, my friend?
We suffer till the very end.
So let's embrace the joy and sorrow.
We live today and die tomorrow.

******
 
Pleasure, pain, we live and find,
Like yang and yin, are intertwined.
From light and shade, we find our depth—
From joy and sorrow, life and death.

To wooden crosses, three were nailed.
Such cruelties had long prevailed.
But one of those had brought us sight,
Or so we hope, who seek for light.

But then, behold how darkness spread,
And evil was, with cunning, wed.
And still their offspring brings us woe.
So who is friend and who is foe?

I wish I knew the answers, but
I am myself within a rut.
And so I now should go to sleep,
And hope it will be long and deep.

2017 April 14th, Thu, 3:08 am
Brooklyn, New York 
   

Breath and Heart

The images are not directly related to the verses that follow.  They might give you a sense of the season and the sights here in Brooklyn, New York.

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After the Snow. Bensonhurst, Brooklyn. 2017 Feb 9.

Crossing Manhattan Bridge. 2017 February 19.

Trees. Starrett City, Brooklyn. 2017 February 19. 

Breath and Heart 

There is, to everything and everyone,
a softer side, that’s gentle, calm and mild—
and there’s another, that is hard and harsh,
oblivious to the pain and harm it does.

If only we could mouth a mantra that
could turn the others to their kinder selves,
then many of our troubles might have ends,
and all the world become a better one.

But finding no such spell in all we’ve learned,
the only thing we still could do might be
to turn ourselves towards our gentler halves—
to dwell therein, aware of breath and heart.

So when the anger rises or the fear,
observe it rising, as you would a wave—
and see it rise and crest and then subside—
so mind and heart can clearly work again.

Behold the fear and make of it your friend.
Observe the anger as you would a child’s.
Forgive the ones who act as though they’re blind,
and cleanse your heart of evil.  Do be kind.

2017 March 16th, Thu.
Room 208 (teacher’s room)
Telecommunications (formerly Bay Ridge) High School
Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, New York
   

Summer’s Gold / The Lover Strong

For those who've always lived in the tropics, these chords might have little resonance.  But those who have spent years or decades in the high latitudes might buzz a bit when reading this.
-----------------------------------------------------

Summer’s Gold / The Lover Strong
 
How pleasant is the summer’s touch
To those who’ve borne the winter long.
For them, the spring’s the suitor but
The summer is the lover strong.

Caressing is the summer’s warmth.
It licks and opens every pore.
In plant and beast, the honeyed sap,
The musk and oils and juices flow.

In winter’s chill, it’s fit for yin
To counsel us to hibernate.
Then spring arrives.  Perhaps it’s sin,
But yang then urges us to mate.

As flowers bud and bloom in sun,
So humans do—and much besides.
The seasons strum—and we vibrate.
So seas and beings pulse with tides.

So autumn whispers in our ears
And winter nips and we retreat.
The spring then coaxes us from fear
To summer’s arms and kisses sweet.

******

The summer, in the polar places,
Releases us from winter’s cold.
We can’t escape its warm embraces
Or shy from all its urgings bold.

Although we wish that summer stays,
Its time with us is often brief.
When autumn’s gone, with all its blaze,
Then memory is our sole relief.

As with seasons, so with fate:
When spring and summer both are past,
Our autumn comes—and then we wait
For winter, when we’ll breathe our last.

And though a season comes again,
We know that we will not return.
We die, as we are born, in pain,
Yet in-between we live and learn.
 
So when we’re in our final years
And shivering from those fingers cold,
As death, with winter’s visage, nears,
We still remember summer’s gold.
 
2015, July 1st, Wed., 6:07 pm
Bensonhurst Park
Brooklyn, New York
   

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
    

Reflections on Dukkha

   
Reflections on Dukkha
 

Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr. with Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese monk, 1960's
image source: http://easyyolk.blogspot.com/2011/07/living-buddha-living-christ.html

 
We see, around us, things that make us sad
and angry, while there’s little we can do –
injustice, needless pain and suffering –
and we ourselves may be affected too.

And seeing this, some sink in dark despair,
or simply shrug and go about their life.
There’s only so much we can fix, repair –
or vainly seek to stem the tides of strife.
 
And some of us might see and yet not see –
or turn away from what discomforts them.
And others might find refuge in their gods –
or take recourse to lie or stratagem.

Philosophies exist, in ancient lands,
and even newer ones, that seem to help.
“It’s fortune, karma.” or “That’s how it is.”
Acceptance helps the sad, beleaguered self.

And some would say, "There's night that follows day.
There's hunger and there's satisfaction, and
without the first, would food retain its taste?"
We suffer – and we start to understand...

And others yet may speak or write – and some
may even act – in ways they think are best
or can imagine and achieve – and then
may fail or may succeed upon their quest.

And some see villains, whom they seek to crush,
and others relish being rescuers.
But few are they, who try to understand
the causes and connections, seeking cures.
 
For much of what we see, the sorrow spread
by actions, words and thoughts compulsive, are
pathologies that stem from ignorance –
or vision clouded by the smoke of war.

Gotama woke from this, our lifelong sleep,
and saw our sorrow and the root of it.
And so he bid us to awake and watch
the fog arise and leave – dissolving it.

But who can do it?  We are trapped by self
and all that’s built around to cage us in.
So passions rule, or calculations cold,
and newest sin is heaped on older sin.
 
But if we are aware, that all is not
as we imagine it – and that there’s light
within the deepest darkness, then we’ll pause –
and in that pausing, find the gift of sight.

“The other cheek” is what the gospel says
we should be turning to the ones who strike.
Yet who can do this, who is not a saint,
when death and utter devastation strike?

Of all that is compulsive, be aware.
Amidst the madness and the rushing, pause.
Release the breath and feel again the heart.
Let kindness be, without a need for cause.
   
2014 August 26th, Tue & 27th, Wed.
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
   

Shadows

 
Shadows
 
I saw the sky was laughing,
I saw the clouds that blew.
I saw the sun was shining,
Amidst the white and blue.
 
I saw the flowers blooming
Beneath that sky above.
It seemed the Earth was singing
Of happiness and love.
 
And then my eyes were blinded,
By light, more bright than sun.
And then, my ears were bleeding
And I, with death, was one.
 
******
  
I see the bodies scattered
Beneath the roiling smoke –
And am I dead or living –
And is this just a joke?
 
A man, at me, is grinning –
His head is all that’s left.
A smoldering girl is writhing –
Of face and skin bereft…
 
The flies and maggots feasted
As corpses rotted slow.
And I, among them, wandered,
Not knowing where to go.
 
******
  
But now I’m dead and gruesome,
With all who once lived here.
And yet – a child is playing
And showing naught of fear.
 
For see – the sun is shining,
As flowers toss in wind –
And so, it’s back to heaven,
Where humans once had sinned.
 
The children here are laughing –
The innocence of youth –
And I and mine are shadows,
Unwanted and uncouth.

2014 August 27th, Wed.
Brooklyn, New York

-------------------------------------------------------------
A translation into Bangla (Bengali) can be 
found at Bhut (Ghosts).
  

The Weave

The Weave
 
These summer days are like the tinkling notes
that issue from a room where someone plays
a piano piece, as if in reverie,
that passersby upon a quiet street
may chance to hear, on walking home at eve,
and slow their steps, to breathe in tranquil ease.
  
And yet there is that roar that’s always there –
that often can be heard by ears but when
inaudible to these is present still –
that causes hearts to quicken, mouths to dry
for those who sense it, pausing then the breath
as muscles tauten for the precipice.
 
And which of these is truer, that I leave
for others to decide – like yin and yang,
the quiet and the screaming, pause and haste,
the opposites can interweave – and lives,
like breath itself, have tides that ebb and rise –
as seasons and their humors take their turn.
 
I walked within the woods and there I heard
the gurgling of a stream, the tinkling drop
of water and the rustling of the leaves –
but then I also heard another sound –
and coming to a clearing, I could see
the river, rushing towards the waterfall.
  
2014 August 23rd, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
  

The Purpose

    
The Purpose
     
I asked an ancient, stooped and seeming wise,
The purpose of this life, in which we race
Towards our ends, encountering the lies
Connivers tell, but rarely finding trace
Of sense or reason – till we endings face.

I’d hoped she give me comfort – kernels, sage,
That she had gathered through her lengthy life
Or finally found as wisdom came with age.
But what she said then sliced me like a knife.
“I only know this world’s a senseless stage.

“So each is born, beneath the changing sky
Of this, our planet, whirling ‘round its sun,
Not knowing even whence she came or why,
To join this race, until, at end of run,
No wiser, she is told it’s time to die.”

So said that ancient, who then shortly died.
And still I wonder if she had it right.
But those I’ve asked have either glibly lied
Or being honest shed no further light,
Except to say that they had lived and tried.

We’re born, beneath the constellations vast,
Not knowing whence or why or whither, yet
We each remember bits of what was past
And try our best to other things forget,
Until it’s time for us to breathe our last.

We suffer – yet, we still may have our joy –
Like night and day, and yearly round of seasons.
The genius, childlike, tinkers with his toy
And cries, when it is taken.  Yet, for reasons,
Even serfs might ask, whom lords employ.

So since my race is nearing now its end
And since exhaustion addles now my brain,
I ask, if you are one who won’t pretend,
But truly knows the why for joy and pain,
That reason, promptly, to this seeker send.

But you might say, “A purpose, each must find.
For some, it’s self, for others, appetite.
And others, who have natures that are kind,
May spend their lives in serving.  Who is right?
The play is that within the sentient mind.

“For some, it’s children, spouses, work.
For some, it’s duty – or it’s nation, god.
Some labor long – and others swiftly shirk.
Some fly on high, while others till the sod.
Do dogs ask why?  They’d only masters irk.

“We humans are but one among the beasts.
What purpose has an octopus or ant?
A bear or human, on a salmon, feasts.
Was that its purpose?  Preachers well may rant
But you had better ask the plants and yeasts.”

But I am putting phrases in your mouth.
I open mine, beyond when I should close it.
I still could talk, about it and about.
But would one talk, who truly, truly knows it?
I ask again – and humbly exit out.
  
2014 January 11, Sat. 3:10 am
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
  

Morning and Evening

  
Morning and Evening
 

Sunrise

  














There’s early morning, beautiful,
With little birds that sing.
The light of dawn is that of hope,
As dreams can then take wing.

For what the night had conjured, then,
To realize, we try,
As long as we have bodies, minds,
On which we can rely.

There’s morning, noon and afternoon.
And then comes evening – slowly,
Nearer to the planet’s poles –
And swiftly in the tropics.

But sunset and the dusk are times,
Whatever be the clime,
When life, diurnal, starts to slow,
Approaching sleeping time.

A wave, that’s crested, then subsides
And hollows down to trough.
So also, sanguine humors now
Decline – we’ve strived enough.

So evening is a time to pause,
Reflect – and feelings, sad,
Are now expressed, as these replace
The brighter ones we’ve had.

As the sun’s decline, departure serves
To mime a mortal’s end,
At sunset, birds and humans seek
To turn – and homewards wend.

And species, social, then expect
To meet with friends and kin,
To share what each has gathered. Yet,
For many, no one' s in.

To empty rooms, we now return
To meet with loneliness.
And that, perforce, we try to do –
And so we all “progress”.

But even this, to many, is
By circumstance, denied.
They sleep by day and work at night,
As shifts are multiplied.

And some there are, who choose this life
For reasons of their own.
The light bulb makes it possible.
Accustomed, we have grown.

But light bulbs surely aren’t sun,
Which we, diurnal, need.
Illnesses, of body, mind,
Our modern habits feed.

Like birds, we humans are attuned
To beats of night and day,
But now we move to other drums –
From ancient rhythms stray.

And when we do, we pay a price
That cannot be avoided.
The legacy of eons past
May not be lightly voided.

Our daily rhythms, by the sun,
Our monthly, by the moon,
Through all our wanderings, were set.
They will not leave us soon.

And if we try to fight with these,
In webs, we feel enmeshed.
But if, with these, we can comply,
We feel alive, refreshed.

There’s sunrise, bright and beautiful,
That bids us to arise.
But then there’s sunset – solemn, sad,
That warns us to be wise.

Sunset in Goa, India

So yang and yin do work in us,
As we are cycles, all.
With us, as with the yearly round –
There’s spring – and there is fall.

2014 January 1st, Wed, 3:20 am
Skyway Dhaba, Bensonhurst, Brooklyn
(stanzas 8—12 & final added Wed. afternoon)

Note:  Click on the images to see them in their original sizes.  Click on the background to return.