Songs-No Better and No Worse

 
                 Songs/
No Better and No Worse
 
I’ve heard the songs of humans, those of birds,
The calls of frogs, the insect choruses—
And I have read that whales have songs, ornate,
With melodies that cross the ocean leagues.
 
******
 
Reflecting on what’s shared in all these things,
Some questions come to mind that might be strange
To others—or may not—that could arise
From what we humans feel on hearing these—
 
But could perhaps be pointers towards the things
That humans long have preferred to ignore,
For reasons justified much less by sense
Than faith—of ancient or of modern kind.
 
Do crickets have a sense of comedy?
Do langurs long for those that they have lost?
I do not know the answer to the first,
But think the second’s answer should be clear.
 
The fish that’s hooked must surely feel the pain
That a human would in such a circumstance—
And just as children can enjoy their play,
So also pups and calves and kittens may.
 
******
 
Pain and pleasure, happiness and grief—
And fear and anger, jealousy and love—
These come and go in us as all things do—
And surely not in you and me alone
 
Or other humans. We are part of life—
No better and no worse than ants or whales—
But special in our ways as all things are,
Including, in our case, the scope of war!
 
A song has length that could be short or long,
And this depends on things intangible.
So also, trees and humans have their lengths
In time, as do the whales and birds and mites.
 
Some things are for a moment, others last
A month, a year—or even till our ends—
And we ourselves are weaves within this flow—
That thread their tunes until it’s time to go.
 
******
 
The songs remind us then of what we are,
Forgotten in our dazed amnesia,

As silence still can do, if it’s embraced,
While letting go of all our prose and verse.
 
2022, July 7^th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Ro'thjatra-রথযাত্রা

 
রথযাত্রা
 
গঙ্গাধর বাবুর সঙ্গে
যেতাম রথের মেলায়।
কোনো একটা চারা কিনে,
ফিরতাম বিকেল বেলায়।

মনে আছে, ছোটবেলায়,
রথযাত্রার দিনে,
সাজানো হতো রথ গুলোকে,
রঙিন কাগজ কিনে।
 
তিন ঠাকুরকে বসিয়ে মাঝে,
টানা হতো রথ।
রাসবিহারীর ফুটপাত দিয়ে,
যাওয়া-ফেরার পথ।
 
মোম্বাতি বা প্রদীপ রথে
জ্বালানো হতো যখন,
কাগজে কাঠে আগুন কেনো
জ্বলে উঠতো না তখন?
 
ভাই বোনেরা টানতাম মিলে
বিকেল-সন্ধ্যেবেলায়।
ছোট্টরা সব খুশি হতাম
বাত্সরিক এই খেলায়।
 
9
 

Times and Seasons

Times and Seasons
 
Our dawns were then like rising tides,
Our dusks were gentle ebbs—
And every time of day had moods,
Reflected in our minds.
 
******
 
Our days and nights were full of hope,
As joy was in the air.
Though suffering was all around,
We did not then despair.
 
The times have changed and we have aged,
Yet dawns and dusks proceed—
And seasons come and seasons go
Of sun—and fear and greed.
 
Our days have darkened and our nights
Are not of restful sleep.
We slide towards the precipice
And glimpse the waiting deep.
 
******
 
The seasons of our lives, once lived,
Do not return again.
And so, while still in fading light,
The darkness is embraced.
 
2022 June 24^th, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York

The Song Primeval

 
The Song Primeval
 
The songs we sing have words and tunes
And ancient, primal roots.
We sang before we talked, perhaps,
And songs transcend our speech.
 
** * * * *
 
There is that pulse within our arteries,
That rhythm of the breath,
And all the cycles of the many worlds
Of which we are a part.
 
The buzz of pleasure and the stab of pain,
The happiness and grief:
They each vibrate within our bodies, minds
And also in our songs.
 
** * * * *
 
We hear the shaman and the medicine man
And feel that primal bond—
That strong connection to the universe
That many now have lost.
 
So also in the temple, synagogue,
Gurdwara, church or mosque—
As in the chanting at the Buddhist math—
We hear the spirit-sound—
 
** * * * *
 
The sound from deep within that when intoned
Out in the open air
Then calls to Sky and calls to Earth—
To Mountain, Stream and Wind—
 
And reaches out to all of life on Earth
And seeks to reach, it seems,
To whirlpool-galaxies of fiery stars,
With all their planets, moons.
 
** * * * *
 
And so the songs we hear in foreign tongues
And those of insects, birds—
And whales that sing across the ocean leagues—
Are recognized as bits
 
Of that great song that binds the universe
That dances to its tunes and beats—
In rhythms fast and slow, with life and death
And all the victories and defeats.
 
* * * ** *
 
The songs we sing are ancient ones
In newer forms reborn—
As some have said of life itself
That cycles through its births.
 
2022 June 22^nd, Wed.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Efficient

 
Efficient
 
We’ve learned to be efficient, work at speed—
To squeeze production out of everything,
Including time and people. So it is
That things requiring patience, things unclear
Are things avoided. Who has time for that?
So all that’s muddled or entangled is
Not clarified—as that would take our time—
But left for others—or is left as is.
 
And so we also have no time to hear
What others, troubled, have to say to us—
Or even look, beneath the surfaces
Of people and of things, to try and see
The causes of the problems that arise.
 
So everything is black and white and clear,
And those who see the grays and speak of these
Are shunned. So problems grow, in scope and strength,
And go unrecognized and unaddressed—
Until disasters come—and then we find
Some things or people that can take the blame—
And then we’re done with that, and saunter on.
For some of us, there’s neither guilt nor shame.
 
2022 June 16^th, Thu.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Isolation

  
Isolation
 
We live on islands that are now connected
By pulses coursing swiftly through the lines—
Yet still, in much that matters, disconnected,
As fear and distance carve dividing lines.
 
So what was joined—and one—is split in two
And then in even more of pieces. These
Are pushed and pulled apart, as in-between
The chasms fill with ever-growing seas.
 
We spend our leisure time on mobile phones—
As work consumes the lives of those with jobs.
What time is left for looking in the soul
Or feeling in the heart that quietly throbs?
 
We seek to bridge the gulfs of distance, time—
And realize, too late, how hard that is.
And meanwhile, we neglect the ones nearby,
Who need the time for just a bit of bliss.
 
We each need solitude at times, but not
This fragmentation of the parts. The whole
Is part of what we are. A leaf that's plucked
Will shrivel. So, the isolated soul.
 
2022, June 13^th, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York
 

Judgement and Blame

 
Judgement and Blame
 
So easy it can be—to find a thing
Or person that we blame for this or that,
Neglecting all the things, combined, that might 
Have brought the circumstance to where it's at.
 
At every moment, we have choices that
We make, although we may not be aware
That we are doing so. And yet the past,
The present and the future still are there
 
To influence that choice. The future? Yes—
The one that we perceive, with hope or fear.
And yet, we have to act, and take the blame
Or credit for the action. That is clear.
 
It will do not do to blame the past for this
Or even present—or what these portend.
We each should bear the weight of what we do,
For action is what matters in the end.
 
******
 
But still, let's slow the judgement and the blame
We cast on others. Let us try and pause
To understand what brought the acts to be,
And not be hasty in ascribing cause.
 
We cannot see within another's mind
Or gauge the pain within another's heart,
But we can pause to try and think and feel—
And this has always been a practiced art
 
That now is more neglected. Who has time
To pause, reflect and try to comprehend?
It's easier to quickly blame and judge—
For breakage can be difficult to mend.
 
The habits that we have are useful but
They might be harmful if we let them steer
Our thoughts and words and actions. In our lives
We need at times to pause to see and hear.
 
2022, June 13^th, Mon.
Brooklyn, New York