Of All the Pleasures

  
Of All the Pleasures
    
How pleasant is the bliss of sleep
To those deprived of rest –
Of all the pleasures of this Earth,
Perhaps the very best.

Like rain upon a land that’s parched,
Like grace to those tormented,
So is that blessing sweet that comes
When sleeplessness is ended.

2014 April 7th, Monday, 4:45 pm
Teachers’ Cafeteria, Basement,
New Utrecht High School
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn
  

Dhoka (Played)

    
Dhoka                                                 Played     
  
Rater majhe exechilo pori,          An angel came in the dark of night
Bhore to cole ge`lo xe.                  And left before the dawn.
Roilo to`khon xo`ron xudhu     Within the shadows of the mind,
Moner a~dhare, he.                        The memory remained.
  
Xei harano xo`roner kho~je,      In search then of that memory,
Xo`pno-praxade ghuri.                 I wandered in my dreams,
Jakei dekhi, takei jigai,                  Asking those I met if they
Dekhejo e`moni huri?                    Had ever seen such grace.
  
Jo`toi khu~ji, pai na go, tai          But finding nothing, I then sought
Dupure, xagor tire,                          The ocean shore at noon,
Roder jholoke, dekhi je`no hot’at   And in the brilliance on the waves
Porir golari hire.                               I glimpsed her necklace bright.
  
Ce~cie ut’he, jha~p debo prae,    I rushed towards the sea, but then
Ke e`k dhore bo`le, “Boka!           A voice restrained me. “Fool!
Xo`pne exechilo bholate tomae,   She came at night to play with you,
Ebaro dieche dhoka.”                      As now she does again.”
  
rat 1:45, 6oi Epril, 2014 kri.             2014 April 6th, Sat., 1:45 am
Bensanharst’, Bruklin, No`bo Io`rk.    Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
   

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
   

Peeking Shy

 
Peeking Shy
  
The city now is bathed, at last, in light,
With skies of blue and drifting clouds of white.
On rain-washed sidewalks, laughing children run,
As lime and brick reflect the strengthened sun.

******
 
The branches of the trees are rich with twigs,
With myriad buds that yearn for warmth to sprout.
And even somber conifers appear
Attired today in somewhat brighter greens.

And though the air is bracing, we can feel
The turning tide, with summer trailing spring,
That youngster, peeking ‘round the corner, shy,
As winter tries to chase the brat away.

And so we’ll have another week of swings,
But then, with April grown to puberty,
We’ll see the city clad in springtime hues,
With trees in bloom and tulips rising gay.

And so the shy, emboldened, take their place,
As those who blustered slowly fade away.
As with the seasons, so with all of us:
The equinox – and then the solstice comes.

******

But through the cold and dark, we've longed for this,
For April sweet, when lovers meet and kiss.
And if they shiver, then it's from delight,
As children run on sidewalks bathed in light.

2014 April 6th, Sat. 3:20 pm,
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York
 

The Touch of the Rain

The Touch of the Rain

I walked in a gossamer springtime rain,
As much of a mist as a drizzle.
The sky was gray and the sun had set
But my heart, it was lit like the day.

The bark of the tree, it was glistening dark,
And its branches were flung to the sky as it prayed.
The rain of the spring, it was gentling the tree,
That was waiting for warmth for its buds to spring free.

I'd stepped from the schoolhouse and into the street,
And the air, it was chill as I bundled myself.
But the touch of the rain, it was gentle and sweet,
Like the lips of a lover, in tenderness met.

There's grief for the ones that we loved, who are gone,
There's sorrow we carry for things left undone,
There are tensions and worries we all have to bear,
But then there's the kiss of the rain in the spring.

I walked in the fine, thin springtime rain,
And all of the worry and sorrow I'd borne
Was lifted away by the touch of the rain,
And just for a moment, the grief.

I'd worked through the day in the school till the eve,
And my being was worn to a frazzle.
But that touch of the rain, like the grace to a soul
Of a sinner, was granted today.

2014 April 4th, Fri, 8:45 pm
Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, New York 
  
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Recent posts related to spring:  Signs of Spring (March 30), We Call for Spring (March 9)

For earlier posts:  Scroll up until you can see the small search box in the upper right corner of the blue top-menu bar.  Type in the word "spring" (or whatever word you wish).  Then press the "Enter" key on your keyboard.  This should show most of the posts that have that word in their title or text.  Scroll down to see them displayed below one another.  The posts may not be in order by date.  

Note:  The titles displayed on the left in the blog archive will be those for the year and month of the first displayed post.  So most of these titles will not be those of posts related to the searched-for word.  You can display or hide the list of titles by clicking on the year and month pointers on the left (blog archive) panel.
 

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.
 

Tuccho

  
This is a nonsense-poem in Bangla (Bengali). For a free translation into English, please see Aenh .
  
Tuccho
   
Gobhir rate ut’hiya ami ko`mpiut’are jahi.
Tahar dara, bondhugo`ner xo`ndhan lohite cahi.
Jo`toi khu~ji, pahi na kichu.  Xudhu abol-tabol.
Tai to likhi, rater majhe, poddo-khani pagol.

Keho ko`xe o`nko, keho ko`re gan,
Ut’hiya keho, bhorer age, pukure ko`re snan.
Keho ghumae dupur be`lae, keho khe`le daba,
Keho d’ake, “Ma go, ma go!”, keho hake, “Baba!”

Moumachi-deb xudhae jo`khon, “Kothae modhu, ko`ho!”
Jo`bai to`khon, “Phuler majhe. Kho`ma ko`ro he, mo`ho!”
Poka-makorer jo`got iha, amra kebol dax.
Pokar do`eae ahar moder, tader kripae xax.

Alla ache, tai to xo`be gahiche tahar gun.
Din-dupure, ixt’exo`ne, hoilo kahar khun?
Kext’o ko`he, “Jahilo Krixt’o, rohilo baki ke?”
Buddho bo`le, Mo`habirer srext’ho cela xe.

Lagilo ho`tat, o`canoke, birat’ be`tha, ghut’nite.
“Bapre!” bolia, tripti khu~ji, d’alimer mixt’o cat’nite.
Xuniachilam, ihar theke moithun hoilo ucco.
Jigai jo`khon, Mo`hadeb ko`he, “Prosno tomar tuccho!”

Bhor xare-tin, po`ela Epril, 2014 kri.
Benso`nharst’, Bruklin, No`bo Io`rk


Note:  I noticed, when attempting to translate this, that I had used  ghut’ni, a variant or mis-remembrance of the Hindi ghut’n’a, for “knee”, instead of the Bengali ha~t’u.  I’m not sure why I had done this.  The manufactured word  ghut’ni does rhyme a bit better with cat’ni which follows in the line below it.  This word is used generically in Bangla for "sweet pickle", but its cognates are used in somewhat different ways in other Indic languages.