Classic Poem

We used to tramp along
on that long road of sorrow
seething with pain
tap tap tapping,
every moment seeing thousands
like ourselves
tracking down a sound of common hope
from the human heart
of which the soul is a little gulp of emotion,
tramping on the path
tap tap tapping.

The doctors listen to the human heart
through their stethoscopes
and extract a romantic meaning —
they say they hear " love-dove love-dove, "
and spread the lie far and wide,
as though some lovesick pigeon had made his nest
in a flock of dreams and said,
Oh Brother!
and sang the dreams of Shirin and Farhad.
But I am compelled to say
that medical science is telling lies
with that sentimental meaning.

And in the present realistic age
why should I blush to say it?
Feeling out the heart,
pondering and reckoning,
crystallizing the objective idea,
I found some other cuckoo saying
" Beans and rice and mustard greens! "

In the inner soul's vast forest
the bird-twitter of all human hearts
says this much in its true voice —
that without which all honor's lost
and one simply dies,
the beating of the universal heart
echoes
" Beans and rice and mustard greens! "

Concealed with coat and vest,
hidden deep in the heart,
it boasts a superficial glory,
the heartbeat dies to say it —
still, why should I be ashamed?
Take it hot or take it tender,
what does the plain-speaking poet fear?
This first tremor of the soul,
idyllic luxuriant creation,
with a hero for every mood,
a-tremble with feeling, singing of desire,
deity presiding over all the arts:
duk-duku duk-duku duk-duku,
beans and rice and mustard greens!

Stuck together in the flesh,
fastened up with the heart,
the living marrow undiminished —
eternal echo under the breast,
numbering every breath,
it tells it tells it tells it true,
cuckoo of the gross material body:
" Beans and rice and mustard greens! "

In the primal waters
in the first throb of Vishnu's navel
this host of greens was born.
On their way to the kitchen these beans
have been converted to divine energy;
as the philosophical voice came into them
they assumed a domestic garb.
It's rice that makes the whole world
proclaim the millstone's song
all along the path,
everyone husking rice,
frantic or exhausted,
and the echoes all agree —
cuckoo of the gross material body!
" Beans and rice and mustard greens! "

Oh gentlemen take heed!
what is this hypocrisy?
In a quiet moment
while the clock ticked its artificial tick-tick-tick
lying on my bed I thought,
Isn't it all just beans
and rice and mustard greens?

Without it the storms would flare,
there'd be revolution,
there'd be devastation,
the earth would weep.
What's the fundamental basis of civilization?
Why should I try in vain to hide it?
Beans and rice and mustard greens.

The man who doesn't grasp philosophy
is a deep basket full of pride,
boasting of his blindness.
Let the understanding understand
what they fight and die for
and do all their laboring for,
nationalization the penance only for today,
the problem of the age.
Can the ship of state proceed
with these dumb sheep to lead it?

Look! Once at Aryaghat,
at the royal throne of God,
on the stone bed,
the search hopeless,
and the world's morality shot,
a man says at the end,
opening his mouth to die,
" Oh Lord of Heaven, don't be harsh!
Be merciful.
I didn't get them on earth
and didn't look anywhere else,
thinking they would be in heaven.
Uh uh! Lord! Uh uh, Lord —
Beans and rice and mustard greens
Beans and rice and mustard greens! "