Art is an accentuated language of reality
It says what neither words nor men can say
It runs parallel to history and condenses the conscience of the times.
Dr. Jernail Singh Anand, a renowned poet and writer from Chandigarh, India, shares his mystic poetry
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
ART
Art is not short for artificial
But what is not normal.
What is
A bit twisted
Looks artistic.
Our wishes do not run
In straight lines
Nor is there any exactitude
Mind is a whim-ridden horse
Willful like a river
When I look at a car
I see its twists and turns
Its body could have
Made a straight line
But then, who would love it?
The idea of beauty
Is the idea of twisting the normal
Beauty is another name
For re-patterning things
How you comb and tie your hair?
How you can look beautiful.
Look. The operative word
Of all art is
Appear. Look.
A character has to look
Like a beggar, a king, a queen
And talk alike.
Art has an aura of something
Which is made up
A sense of something unreal
Something cooked up
In order to press in some message.
Art is an accentuated language
Of reality
It says what neither words
Nor men can say
It runs parallel to history
And condenses the conscience of the times.
***
BACK TO HER HOLINESS! THE EARTH
If I scatter any food item
On the earth,
It is like giving back to it
What I got in so many variations
Even when I place it on a concrete surface
Which blocks its contact
With the earth
It sends ants and dogs
Earth claims back in small doses
What it gives in lump sum
We men who come
In huge mass
Are meant to scatter ourselves away
Back to the earth
And finally carry it
In ashes to the rivers
Earth allows us to build castles
Air too does not mind them
Nights like to see men
Snore out their dreams
Life exerts resistance to men
When they overthink
And gods too raise their brow
When we overpray
Earth tolerates mountains because
They look respectfully
At the valleys they have dug
Not men who harbour hatred for the downtrodden.
____________
