A Precious Thing

 
A Precious Thing
 
Appreciate the ones who are sincere,
Who think of others, not of just themselves,
Who do their work with diligence and care,
Who see the good in others, not just faults,
Who look beneath the surface, see the grays—
Remember what they owe, are slow to judge—
And speak and act with kindness, seeking still
The truth in full—and not convenient part,
Rejecting falsehoods and eschewing hate,
And seeing, in the “other”, also self.
 
To varying degrees, we see these things,
As well as opposites, in the ones around
Who’re neither saints nor devils, but a mix
Of virtues and of vices, old and new.
 
Courage joined with kindness can be rare—
And that is why it is a precious thing.
 
2022 June 6, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York

Virtues

Virtues
 
What substitutes are there for caring, truth—
For courage and for vision, wide and deep?
What doctrine can replace our empathy?
What law, the sense for fairness, equity?
 
Can supervision make us diligent—
In all the matters where attention counts?
What substitute is there for honesty?
Can “training” truly open hearts and minds?

 
There is a place for slowing, gentleness—
For acts of kindness born from looking deep.
Embrace the new and welcome it—and yet
Remember that the old is ours to keep.

Among the things that humans long have prized
Are all the virtues that were recognized
In ancient times. Though vices new appear,
We need those virtues still—and always will.

 
2022 June 1^st, Wed.
Brooklyn, New York

Pain

Pain
 
How much of pain can a being endure—
How much of sorrow and grief?
How much injustice can a heart have to bear—
How much of heartless deceit?
 
Yet the pain will be borne, in silence—and tears

That are felt—but cannot be shed.
And the heart and the mind may fill with the words
That will never, in public, be said.
 
One is weak and afraid, when courage has left
And the strength of our youth has departed.
Yet memories rise, of deeds that were brave
And of labor—and years that seem wasted—
 
But truly were not—for the service we did
Had its fruits in the ones that we served.
And even in pain, we remember the smiles
And that honor—in hearts—is preserved.
 
2022 May 30^th, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Ta ki bhola jae-তা কি ভোলা যায়

তা কি ভোলা যায়?

সবই যখন ধ্বংস, ক্ষয়—
তাও কি বেঁচে থাকতে হয়? 
ঠেকায় তখন এই পারে কি 
কেবল মরণ-ব্যথার ভয়?

জীবন যখন ধূসর, তখন 
রঙের স্মৃতি রয় কি মনে? 
গালির ঠোকায় কালা হয়েও, 
কান কি তবু সুরটা শোনে?

ভোরে যতই সন্ধ্যে আসে, 
যতই গেছে চুকে—
দায়িত্ব কি ছাড়া চলে, 
যতই ব্যাথা বুকে?

যতই জুতো, যতই লাথি—
যতই ঘোর নিরাশা—
রইবে তবু শুদ্ধি, বিবেক, 
রইবে ভালোবাসা।

প্রেমের কথা বলছি না, ভাই। 
প্রেম তো আসে, যায়। 
কৃতজ্ঞতা, দয়া-মায়া,
তা কি ভোলা যায়? 

সোমবার, ২৩ মে, ২০২২ খ্রি, 
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউ ইয়র্ক

Living

Living
 
I had listened to the singing.
I had watched the swaying dance.
I had seen the spinning shaman,
As he muttered in his trance.
 
I had learned from sight and hearing.
I had spent my youth in books.
I had tried to act with courage.
I had shied away from crooks.
 
I had seen the clouds go sailing
In the ocean of the sky.
I had seen the stars in splendor
And had thought, “I now can die.”

 
******
 
I had touched and I had tasted;
Scented fragrances and stinks.
I had savored; I had suffered;
I had seen and felt the links.
 
Those yesterdays, remembered,
Inform my life today.
In the darkness of December,
There’s still the light of May.
 
As we age, we lose our fellows.
As the loss exceeds the gain,
We are led to learn to treasure
The ones that still remain.
 
******
 
We have walked a while together—
And when we each depart,
We still will be connected,
As we’ve bonded, heart to heart.
 
And when I’m gone, you’ll find me
In the song and in the dance.
In the shaman, I’ll be speaking,
As he’s deep within his trance.
 
You will find me in the valleys,
In the shaded little nooks.
You will sight me in the mountains
And you’ll hear me in the brooks.
 
******
 
In the mist that sleeps in valleys,
In the clouds that sail the skies,
In the singing and the dancing,
In the silence for the whys—
 
There’s that throb that slows and quickens.
It’s in rivers and in veins.
It’s the pulse of tides and heartbeats—
And of droughts that yield to rains.
 
As the moon has all its phases,
As the sunsets twin with dawns,
There is birth and death and in-between
For the emperors and pawns.
 
******
 
I have loved and been rejected;
Been touched by fire and ice.
How sweet is human virtue;
How bitter, human vice!
 
I have seen the stars in myriad.
I have seen them in your eyes.
How many are the beings born
For every one that dies?
 
Did I meet you in another life?
Did I part from you in pain?
We have met and walked together—
And I know we’ll meet again.
 
2022, May 10^th, Tue.
Brooklyn, New York
 
 

Freedom-2022-05-05

Freedom
 
Freedom is a vital thing
That’s dear to young and old.
Freedom is a precious thing
That can’t be bought or sold.
Yet freedom can be snatched away—
Or taken bit by bit.
When freedom’s lost or threatened, then
It’s time for actions bold.
 
There’s servitude, to those who wield
The whip, the rod, the gun;
Indenture, too—to those with snares
And webs of debt they’ve spun—
And labor, for the wage that’s earned
On terms befitting serfs.
And then there is dependence on
The beneficent one.
 
These all are forms of slavery.
To varying degrees,
We each are captives, happenstance,
Or humbled, on our knees,
To those adept at trickery
Or playing on our fears.
Arise, arise—to liberty,
So tyrannies may cease!
 
The tyranny of masters, be
They private or the states;
The tyranny of lenders, who
Extract usurious rates;
The tyranny of doctrines,
Administered by “priests”—
It matters not. Beware of those
Who “own” the others’ fates.
 

If Fortune gives you fortune, friend,
Or if you're fortune's earned—
Do use it humbly, kindly—
So your fortune then is turned
To that of others. If instead
Your fate is that of labor,
Then give, to others, service that
Will surely not be spurned.
 

The “owners” and the “workers”: both

Have rights—and both have faults.
Be fair, be just, in what you do—
With service—as with vaults.
Open up your eyes and heart.
Be wary—yet be kind.
Be neither slave nor master. Taste
Of freedom’s vital salts.
 
But wait! Beware, my patient friend,
Of those who say they act
In freedom’s name—and boast of this,
When what they do, in fact,
Is in pursuit of power, wealth—
But cloaked in freedom's garb.
Do not be fooled by merchants. Keep
Your soul—and sense—intact.
 
2022, May 5^th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Peace-শান্তি-Shanti-2022-01

 
Peace / শান্তি 

Peace

Within the stillness of the quiet mind
And resting deep within the peaceful heart,
There still exists the silence that can heal
And so the caring and the courage too. 
So on the surface of the ocean, storms
May rage and waves be whipped by wind,
But deep below, the water's silent flow
Persists—and knows no turbulence. 

2022, January 29th, Sat. 
Brooklyn, New York

****** 

শান্তি 

সমুদ্রের পৃষ্ঠে: হাওয়া, ঢেউ, ঝড়।
গভীরে, তাও বইছে সদা— 
সেই নিঃশব্দ ধারা। 
মনের নিরব স্থিরের অন্তরে
রয়েছে সেই স্বাস্থ্যকর শান্তি,
সেই সহানুভূতি, সেই সাহস।  

শনিবার, ২৯ জানুয়ারি, ২০২২ খ্রি, 
ব্রুক্লিন, নিউ ইয়র্ক