Caught in turmoil of tumults five
That life faces from senses naive:
Deer, mesmerized by magic of sweet sound,
Tuskers, by titillating sexual heist,
Moths, maddened by the sight of fire around,
Fish, by meagre morsel of taste,
And bees beguiled by floral smell—
Why? Rings to me no causal bell,
Why are males consumed in sense-soaking spell?
__________________________
Translations (Sanskrit) | 02.05.2026 | madness/mystic/magic, music, senses, rhyme
Note: This verse as under is often quoted in Indian music treatises:
Lost in music deer are often caught unaware by the hunter, elephants lost in the madness of mating, moths attracted by flares of fire, fish when bite the morsel in bate, and bees lured by flowery fragrance. Here is the transliteration of the Sanskrit verse:
Shabda aadibhih panchabhih eva pancha
panchatvam apuh svagunaih nirbaddham |
Kuranga maatanga patanga meena bhringaa
narah panchbhih ranchitah kim ||
kuranga= deer, maatanga= elephant, patanga= moth, meena= fish, bhringa= bee
____________________
By Phan Tan Hai
He brought the monk back to Van Gia village,
where waterfalls chilled the flow of verse.
Opening his eyes, he gazed through the realm of death—
the midnight forest heavy beneath a dim moon.
What was the monk waiting for, that his hair turned white,
as the final watch drifted across the misty world?
He translated three thousand sutras and treatises,
then lifted his head toward the nation—tears falling.
the choir chimed in
a chorus of rebuke
or stones we'd hurl
abusing the adulteress's skin
shoot your pocket rocks
passing judgment comes down
like diluvial rains splashing
gory-red upon your frocks
it was to be...
her luggage, some water-jars
Samaritan's soles cooked &
cured by partiality &
cancel culture, burying stars
Desert Rose Parchment Gazette
circulated the dame's tragedies
watering-hole purists rebuffed her
like Hester of Scarlet
it was to be...
but five (4+1) days late
the state of death
arose, rank and proud
with results beyond debate
Brother Lazarus' fate sealed
in the tacit tombs
there for the world
and his women appealed
none was to be
ne'er was to be
Oh, Creator of Earth,
& Heavens outweighs the
chains of men's destinies
enters seas of dearth
that i should gain
Your cherubic fiddling surceased:
extemporizing treatises in sands
divining springs quenching pain
How impossibly the author
of Tomorrow and hero
of souls and spine
of faith, the purveyor
of Paradise and mercy
of the made, despoils
death's feats & fervor.
Selah. Let it be.
Let us not be slaves
to cycles and numbers,
stars are infinite we know...
Like, travel a sea
despite our direction
on their own waves come
and go, schools of little fishy
on and on flow --
And, if tomorrow
there was no man, burned
by his own hot iron, branding will
of his ill jaded clan
the earth will
and the earth can
replace what needed of species
oblivious to learned philosophies
and embellished treatises --
God preplanned our worth
required death before birth....
Far away on distant horizons, lies the world that we want to see,
It is true that we are blessed, but do you think we are truly free?
Those who have fought and died, would certainly hope that's true,
the past has seen masters and slaves, surely it's not me and you.
Great societies are built on the backs, of slaves by another name,
who work their entire lives for the nothing, with which they came.
The great models of human existence, found on the drawing board,
are ordered by men with great egos, who want to be called my lord.
The treatises of our modern world, are but the foundations of evil,
the reason that the prophecies predict, the coming great upheaval,
each day the setting of the sun, paints a canvas on a western sky,
to be for us a glimpse into that world, where the soul learns to fly.
No man knows the exact day or hour
But charlatans continually preach of an Armageddon stour
Over fallow fields they their abrasive treatises scour
Softening the hard, unyielding ground as a tidy, careful plower
With visions of doomsday they fertile hearts do shower
Their seeds annually spring up as the perennial flower
With self-aggrandizing statements, continually their banal egos empower
Prophesying the cataclysmic end from their ivory tower
Predicting a scourging blight on every shielded bower
With their fleecing mantra distill a warning so dour
Ignorant patrons dispossess themselves of temporal treasures and cower
With presentiments of fearsome events that will this evil world devour
If only they would throw off the yoke of parochial tenets, emboldening discerning spirits with valour
Their hungry hearts would the chaff disperse and process the truthful remnant into a satiating flour
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