Rendering the body too as sacred
Love accords a local habitation
And a shape to emotions
Which were, otherwise, just airy nothings.
Dr. Jernail Singh Anand, a renowned poet and writer from Chandigarh, India, shares his mystic poems
Dr. Jernail Singh Anand, based in Chandigarh, is an Indian poet and scholar credited with 170 plus books of English literature, philosophy and spirituality. He won great Serbian Award Charter of Morava and his name adorns the Poets’ Rock in Serbia. He was honored with Seneca Award LAUDIS CHARTA by Academy of Arts & Philosophical Sciences, Bari, Italy 2024. He is Founder President of the International Academy of Ethics and conferred Doctor of Philosophy (Honoris Causa) by University of Engineering & Management, (UEM) Jaipur. Email anandjs55@yahoo.com
Biblio-link: https://sites.google.com/view/bibliography-dr-jernal-singh/home
AIRY NOTHINGS
Passion has a great quality
It does not leave you
Even for a second
You remain bewitched and spell bound.
Passion is a friendly virtue
Does not possess
The killer potential
Obsession has.
Love is a passion,
A desire
I have yet to see fragrance
Without a flower.
Not only this body,
Mind is the real domain of Desire
Body is only a tunnel
Through which the liquid divine flows.
Rendering the body too as sacred
Love accords a local habitation
And a shape to emotions
Which were, otherwise, just airy nothings.
***
THE SALES GIRL
When trees fell into minority
Animals got the cue
A cataclysm is about to strike
The earth and the blue
With silentia of the earth
Which absorbed the noise gone,
Fleshless bones were crankling
Creating weird music.
The flowers too did early leave
And sensing the disaster
Butterflies packed their luggage
And migrated to safer zones
Flowers were the hardest hit
Only lovers bought them
And now
They were only meant for the graves.
I saw a sale on which some females
Were sitting,
Decorated like flowers
Was it to attract or distract the males?
They were trained to give a sharper smile
Which brought cheer
In the eye of a customer
And thus sold wares excessively dear
What those flowers were selling?
Who twisted their heads
To welcome me?
Me who was sunk deep in stupidity.
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