Why Should I Be Concerned? Three poems by Shamik Banerjee

lamb, image by Catherine Stockinger, on Pixabay

Why Should I Be Concerned?

I’ve tried to be His humble sheep

   By keeping pride at bay.

The times it stumbled on my route,

   I took another way.

When gluttony waved its wand on me

   And sloth too cast a spell,

I turned to those bereft of grains,

   The roofless, and unwell.

I trod with envy long ago

   And mingled fine with wrath.

But great remorse was all they gave;

   I shunned them from my path.

For years, I bowed to wealth and greed;

   Our bonds grew fast and faster!

Purloined of sleep and bliss, I stopped

   Declaring them my masters.

When sly temptation friended me

   And showed the joys of lust,

I learned it wouldn’t lend a hand

   Once I’m reduced to dust.

The day I saw The Shepherd’s crook,

   My former self was burned.

I’ve done my best to follow Him;

   Why should I be concerned?

                       *

On Jerusalem’s Land

To mull on them: those twelve distinctive minds

Who met the Lord on Jerusalem’s land,

Not knowing midst their lives of simple kinds,

They’d dine beside or touch Him by the hand;

Oh! to have looked at those all-graceful eyes

Or placed their washed-out heads upon His chest

(Oblivious of His Godhood in man’s guise),

Who vowed to wring their sins and give them rest.

Although within their hearts, irenic strings

Of wonder must have played, calm was their breath,

And I, who sense Him in all common things,

In their spot (out of awe), would have found death,

Or at least, like Saint Thomas, whose lips read,

“My Lord and my God!” I’d have softly said.

Scripture reference: John 20:28

                        *

The Two Lights

Great nature summons man to rove

Its stately realms, each like a trove—

A sandbar, coppice, canyon wide,

Or burrow where small beings hide.

Such things relight one’s heart and mind.

But I receive a brighter kind

Of light while setting up my hall

Of prayer with tapers large and small,

Twining the onyx rosary

Around my right hand carefully,

And bowing to the holy rood

To pray for one whose drudge for food

Has swept his nightly sleep away,

Or someone meshed within the play

Of envy, hankering, or plight.

Yet I witness the brightest light

While praying for the souls of those

Who deem themselves my greatest foes.

_____________________________

Shamik Banerjee is a poet from Assam, India, where he lives with his parents.

Some of his recent works will appear in The Pointed Circle, Bellwether Review,

York Literary Review, and Lighten Up Online.

July 2024 issue