The Path Taken

 
The Path Taken
 
There's neither a heaven nor a hell that waits
As pat for virtue or as rod for vice.
Justice is not served within a life
Or afterward. Our hopes are often dashed 
And all our labors blindly set to naught.
 
And yet we strive for what we feel is best,
And yet we hope for justice for ourselves
And others. This gives meaning to our lives.
We walk upon the road and look ahead—
As otherwise we might as well be dead.
 
******
 
There’s light and darkness, coupled each to each.
There’s joy and sorrow, pleasure-pain, entwined.
There’s fear and anger, jousting with desire—
And love, compassion with their opposites.
There’s deep attention—and impatient haste.
 
So also: “good” and “evil”; fog and clarity;
Truth and falsehood—and what’s in-between;
The stress of conflict—and the grace of peace.
We walk within the pulsing and the breath—
The yang and yin of birthing, life and death.
 
*****
 
We humans often think that we’re unique—
Forgetting every species also is.
The times we’re in, despite the Internet,
Are full of things that stress and isolate
Us—each from each—or else distract and blind.
 
We walk alone and yet at times we find
A hand that reaches out to us to help
Or just to touch us, so we know that we
Are not alone—and share the sentient plight.
And when we do the same, we share the light.
 
2022 August 30^th, Tue.
Berkeley, California
 

Gotama Got it Right

 
Gotama Got it Right
 
When you're filled with fear or want
Or raging for a fight,
Then pause to breathe, remembering
Gotama got it right.
 
Observe the fear or want or rage
And watch it rise and crest—
Then feel it ebb, like the lunar tide
That circles east to west.
 
The tide—it harks to the call of the moon,
But what propels a mood?
In quietude, the whisper’s heard—
Along with the urging rude.
 
The world “outside” and the thoughts “inside”—
They speak and are heard in turn—
And we respond—as the fire may dim
Or flame with the breeze and burn.
 
The body-mind, when so observed,
Is understood in time—
And its turbulence is slowly calmed
As things begin to rhyme.
 
So our actions flow from calm within—
And so enhance the peace.
The past and future cede to now.
We savor then some ease.
 
2022 August 26^th, Fri.
Berkeley, California
 

 

Does Money Rule?

   
Does Money Rule?
 
“Money rules the world that ‘men’ have made.”
And who among us can resist its sway?
And yet, does money have a body, mind—
Or sense of self? It's truly men who rule—
Along with women—in proportion less
By far than what their even share could be.
 
So men (and women—some) with money rule.
The rest of us are “subjects” of these kings
(Or queens, at times)—and subject to their wills.
The pound and rifle, dollar teamed with bomb—
And now perhaps some other pairings too—
Are instruments by which our masters rule.
 
******
 
Are poorer people richer than the rich
In virtue? Do the rich have more of vice?
That's hard to say. It could be true—or not.
Wealth and power—these go hand in hand,
Magnifying vice and virtue, both.
The rich have potence that the others don't.
 
No matter. Money does not rule the world;
The ones with money—they're the ones who do,
For better or for worse. The issue is:
No ruler could exist without the ruled.
In this, we've mostly been completely fooled.
So kings were deified—as magnates are.
 
2022 August 26^th, Fri.
Berkeley, California
 
 

I, Coward

 
I, Coward
 
From seeing what addictions do to men
And women, I had stayed away
From many things that draw us humans in—
But now I peck and stare at bright-lit screens.
 
******
 
I'm caught within a world I did not make,
Except at times by following the trend—
I thing that I'd resisted all my life,
Despite the lures of “going with the flow”.
 
I've held to my convictions and my code,
Not making prime the interest in self
And self-advancement that has long prevailed—
And this had helped me in my course of life.
 
I'd viewed the world, it seemed, with clarity,
And so made choices based on “what was right”—
Although I knew the limits to my sight—
Or learned of it, with due humility.
 
To “swim against the tide” is hard enough—
But even harder when there's turbulence.
Exhaustion and confusion drain one's strength.
I once was brave but now am filled with dread—
 
******
 
For when the conflicts in my inner self
Began, as duties clear became opposed,
I could no longer act with a conscience clear
And bear the consequence as I had done.
 
So those decisions, that involved a choice
Of leaving either one or other kin,
I could not make—and so was paralyzed
Until compelled to choose—with a heavy heart.
 
And ever since, I've been so anxious, tense—
Whenever conflicts rose or could be seen
Arising on the road ahead that I
Would lapse again to depths of cowardice.
 
“A brave one dies but once; a coward dies
A thousand deaths”. And this, I've realized—
As every day, I wake—not touched by hope,
But fear instead—as dawn brings deeper night.
 
******
 
What remedy is there for cowardice—
When basic discipline has broken down?
I wish I knew. I’ve tried to face the fear
And live with it—as I have done so far.
 
But how much longer can I live in dread?
And how much longer can I put on hold
The acts of living, as I’ve done for long?
And what, for others, is the consequence?
 
In all my years, I’ve had my share of woe,
Have suffered losses, wept and smiled again,
Have labored, struggled, savored small success—
But now, for twenty years, I've dug this well.
 
******
 
And more and more I now distract myself
With things that seem of little consequence—
And so avoid the acts that dredge up all
That makes me panic. So the tension builds.
 
2022 Aug 15, Mon.
(on the 75^th anniversary
of India's independence)
Berkeley, California
 

A Foul Disease

A Foul Disease
 
The zealots, found in various kinds,
Will always claim superior minds
And outlooks, teachings and the rest,
Claiming that their ways are best.
 
Do gods need humans, for defence,
Who take, at gibe or poke, offence?
Such gods must then be insecure,
And weak at essence. That is sure—
 
Or else their devotees may think
That punctured dogmas always sink,
Unless the puncturer is caught—
And then, a lesson harsh, is taught.
 
So also, with the monied swell—
And hardline communists as well,
And likewise, with the atheists proud
And so with all, whose faiths are loud—
 
Who cannot tolerate a sentence
Said against these, seek repentance—
Or seek to snuff out words—or even
Lives, attempting to get even.
 
******
 
The right exists, for humankind,
To speak of things we have in mind,
No matter that this might displease
The ones who most insist we cease.
 
It does behoove the speakers, though,
To still be civil, since we know
What happens when civility
Is set aside—and dignity
 
Is challenged. That being said, the speech
Disliked, for its content or breach
Of manners, should be met by speech
Or silence, not by killing speech.
 
Those, who slay in the name of Allah
Or of Yahweh or of Yeshua
Or now for "Dharma" or whatever,
Have caught an old and lethal fever
 
That might not down the bearer, yet
Can kill so many others! Let
This foul disease be recognized
And treatments for its cause devised.
 
******
 
The root in this is disrespect
For other paths. One might expect
That learning can correct this, but
It often further digs the rut,
 
As scripture, even “science”, is quoted,
“Strong support” from this is noted,
And every other path dismissed,
With breadth of vision further missed.
 
So also it can be for creeds
That rest on envies or on greeds—
Or elevate the “wise” to heights
From which they rain on us their slights.
 
Be humble. Know, we cannot guess
The half of it—or even less—
In matters most mundane. Why then
Proclaim on things beyond our ken?
 
There's more—in spirit and in matter—
Than grasped in all our mortal chatter
Or even by the “great immortals”
Who speak to us through prophet-portals.
 
2022, July 15, Fri.
Brooklyn, New York
 

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।
 
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