Time Again to Run

 
Time Again to Run

There are nuances in nature.
There are shades within ourselves.
But it's "winner" and it's "loser"
For the Donald and his elves.

You are for me or against me.
We are born to run, compete.
So it's victory for the winner.
For the others, it's defeat.

There's a better way to do things—
And there always is the best.
To be quick and more efficient
Is the teaching of the West.

And how the East has taken
That message to its heart!
They will take that style of running
And make, of it, an art.

In the cities by the seaside,
You can see the women run.
They have little time for leisure,
They have little time for fun.

And the leisure they're permitted—
It is not what it should be.
By the shore, the waves are breaking.
But who is there to see?

It's the leisure for consumption.
It's the tour of packaged fun.
It's the holiday that's over,
So it's time again to run.

They run in Hiroshima.
They're racing in Shenzhen.
And in Ho Chi Minh City,
It is time to run again.

2016 October 30, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York
  
https://www.facebook.com/riaz.quadir/posts/10155361065997678
  
https://www.facebook.com/riaz.quadir/posts/10155361065997678?comment_id=10155373674602678&comment_tracking=%7B%22tn%22%3A%22R%22%7D

  

Mood Blue

 
Mood Blue

There are causes for our problems.
There are problems that we cause.
So the cycles, that we're caught in,
Keep us running, till we pause.

But to pause is to have trouble.
If we question, then we sink.
We are workers and consumers.
We pay taxes. Do we think?

There are channels for our thinking.
To these channels, we're confined.
We are penned and we're addicted.
We have little peace of mind.

******

We are flowing like the water.
We are blowing like the wind.
Yet we like to think we're solids.
That's the reason we have sinned.

Can we write upon the water?
Can we shape and hold the wind?
Did they ask themselves these questions—
Those in Egypt and in Sindh?

In old Mohenjo-daro,
Could they savor breaks from work?
Could the workers too, in Giza,
From the pharaoh's labors shirk?

We can see the woman running,
As she races to her train.
We can see the woman aging
From the stress and from the strain.

*****

And who is it who profits
From this racing, from this work?
If we knew, then we might stop it—
Give the finger to the jerk.

Is it God, up in his penthouse?
Is it Bloomberg, in the skies?
The widow holds the ashes.
The orphan sits and cries.

We have drugs and schools and markets.
We have courts and we have lawyers.
We have banks and corporations
And they need the skillful liars.

There's the blue that lights the heavens.
There's the blue that's in the soul.
There's a time for pause and sadness
That is needed to be whole.

2016 October 30, Sun.
Brooklyn, New York

https://www.facebook.com/riaz.quadir/posts/10155361065997678

https://www.facebook.com/riaz.quadir/posts/10155361065997678?comment_id=10155373674602678&comment_tracking=%7B%22tn%22%3A%22R%22%7D

  

Before We Go

Before We Go

When the mind is agitated
and the heart is weighted down.
we only think of matters then
that make us fear or frown.

And then, when moments do arise
when fright and stress recede,
we might be filled with old regrets
and weep for those deceased.
 
We don’t recall those others then—
the ones we have neglected.
We leave no space or time for those
that our actions have affected.

It’s time to clear the clutter then;
it’s time to walk a while—
to breathe a bit of open air,
to look around and smile.

It’s time to say, “We’re passing through.
We’ll soon enough be gone.
Let’s tend to things before we leave
this planet that we’re on.”

And so the storm within may cease
awhile—and give us time
and space for things that matter more—
for heart—and reason, rhyme.

And then perhaps we’ll see a face
or hear a voice, and so
we might resolve to visit, call
or write, before we go.
 
And also then some things may come
to light, that the fog had hidden,
and we might see a path, a hope
that our panic had forbidden.

2016 October 29th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York
    

Entropy and Empathy

Entropy and Empathy

The alchemists had tried, by various means,
to turn the cheaper metals into gold.
They failed. But doing so, they surely saw
that shining iron turns in time to rust.

We do not see the old grow sleek and lithe;
instead, the glow of youth is dulled by age.
   
So order turns to chaos by itself,
as there is ever more of entropy.
So all our plans and years of effort fail
to keep our loves and selves and treasures safe.

So reason too is dimmed and virtue fades,
as passion, teamed with vice, prevails.
So sanity and peace are massacred,
as madness wreaks the mayhem that is war.

******
 
When all our good intentions and our work
have led us deeper into tragedies,
and we are faced with darkness and despair,
what light remains—what hope, to give us strength?

What comforts us, when conscience tells the soul,
“You sunder things, but cannot make them whole.” ?

How easily is innocence destroyed
and trust betrayed!  So all that’s precious then
dissolves.  Suspicion, rancor, hatred rise
to take the place of empathy and love.

If we could take the shattered glass and join
its pieces seamlessly or mend the heart
that’s broken, then we could, with truth, proclaim,
“We’re graced in being skilled at such an art.”

 *******
 
But who is there among us to repeal
the laws of Nature and the ways of Man?
In every sainted one, those flaws exist,
that others, not so sainted, proudly flaunt.
 
We’re told that there are beings that are wise,
that know the future as we know our past.
 
But we are mortals, so we err and we
are limited in what we can achieve
or even comprehend.  So why then lash
ourselves—and add yet more to misery?

We do what we are able. Things may turn
out wrong despite our efforts, yet we should
remember what we did, what others too
have tried to do, be grateful—and forgive.

******

We might have smiles and presents for a friend,
but who can give these to an enemy—
to one who's wounded us and brought us woe?
Is there such love, in full sincerity?

In peacetime and in war, we rape and burn.
The orphan cries. The widow holds the urn.

When we can see that he who harms us is
within us each, we then can truly see.
And seeing this, we each can then be healed
and find again that peace that dwells within.

We each in time will face dishonor, death,
and each of us will eat of ashes, yet
we still can cleanse our selves of all our sin
and all that others did in heartlessness.
   
2016 October 29th, Sat.
Brooklyn, New York  

  

Napit Ojha—নাপিত ওঝা—The Barber Shaman

The English translation, directly below, is followed by a link to an amusing video clip (in English) and then by the Bengali original.  This is given first in a phonetic Roman transcription, then in the traditional Bengali script, and finally in Google's Roman transcription, which faithfully follows the Bengali spelling.
-------------------------------------

The Barber Shaman

I had been possessed by fiends—
by demons, witches—yes!
I went to the barber-shaman then,
for I was in a mess.

He gave me such a pounding, oh—
as barber-shamans do,
that one by one the demons left—
and took the witches too.

Tuesday, 25th October, 2016
Brooklyn, New York 
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Video clip:
https://www.facebook.com/LivetsSkole1/videos/711187532246289/

You should be able to see this without having to sign into Facebook. However, a reminder might then appear, which might block out the lower half of the video if you are using a wide screen.
 
This should not be a problem if you are using a screen with an older aspect ratio (less wide relative to height) or if you are using a tall screen. The latter can be achieved on most "smart" cell phones (that have automatic rotation) by holding the cell-phone in the proper orientation.
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Napit Ojha

Pe-e boxechilo amae, ogo,
bhut-petnir do`l.
Gelam napit-ojhar kache.
Ar ki ko`rar? Bo`l.

E`mon do`lai-mo`lai dilo,
birat' jore, bawa,
holo tate, cho`t'-pho`t'ie,
bhut-petni haoa!

Mongolbar, 25e O`kt’obar, 2016 Khri.
Bruklin, Niu Io`rk

For a brief summary of the transcription scheme, see: 
http://thedailypoet.blogspot.com/2014/02/bharot-xadhin-indias-freedom.html
------------------------------------

নাপিত ওঝা

পেয়ে বসেছিল আমায়, ওগো,
ভূত পেত্নীর দল৷
গেলাম নাপিত-ওঝার কাছে৷
আর কি করার? বল্৷

এমন দলাই-মলাই দিল,
বিরাট জোরে, বাওয়া,
হল তাতে, ছটপটিয়ে,
ভুত পেত্নী হাওয়া৷

মঙ্গলবার, ২৫এ অক্টোবর, ২০১৬ খ্রি
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউয়র্ক
------------------------------------
 

Nāpita Ōjhā

Pēẏē basēchila āmāẏa, ōgō,
bhūta pētnīra dala.
Gēlāma nāpita-ōjhāra kāchē.
Āra ki karāra? Bal.

  

Ēmana dalā'i-malā'i dila,
birāṭa jōrē, bā'ōẏā,
hala tātē, chaṭapaṭiẏē,
bhuta pētnī hā'ōẏā.

Maṅgalabāra, 25ē Akṭōbara, 2016 Khri
Bruklina, Ni'uẏarka  

transcription from: http://google.com/translate
    

Better

  

Better

  

I talked to my friend

for half an hour.

I went on and on.

He listened patiently.

Later, I thought,

if I’d talked less

and listened more,

it would have been

better.

  

2016 October 25th, Tuesday

R-train, Manhattan to Brooklyn

  

Needs

 
Needs
 
The things that humans build and make,
in cities, factories—these
are often wasteful, monstrous and
disturbing to the soul.

And so we need the open space,
with sky—and water, earth,
and all the hues and sounds and scents
that heal and make us whole.
 
We need the plants, we need the beasts—
we need the rest of life.
We need the clouds, the rain and snow,
we need the open sky.
 
We need the dawn, we need the dusk,
we need the arcing sun.
We do not need to speed to work
and back—to race and run.
 
******
 
We need the curve of hill and branch,
the flow of water, wind.
With quadrants and with walls, we’ve penned
ourselves and we have sinned

against this world and all that lives
and all that gave us birth,
and all that still sustains this life
upon this whirling Earth.
 
We need the whispers of the winds,
the gurgling of the streams,
and all the softer sounds we heard
that soothed us in our dreams.
 
We need to savor what we do—
to labor slow, with love.
We do not need the overseer
who drives us from above.
 
******
We need the brightness of the day,
we need the heat and cold.
We need the darkness of the night,
we need the moon and stars.
 
We need to learn, we need to teach,
to care for young and old.
We do not need the speed, the din,
the factories and the wars.
 
We need to find or grow our food,
to spin and weave the string.
We need to feel, beneath our feet,
the earth, the grass, the moss…
 
We need to talk and touch and kiss,
we need to dance and sing.
We do not need to bend the knee
or bow to lord or boss.
 
2016 October 22nd, Sat., 1:47 am
Bensonhurst Park, Brooklyn, New York