Everything decays with age
Eyes, kidneys, body’s rage
Every part of the body
Starts falling apart
What remains intact is man’s heart…
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
EMBERS
Everything decays with age
Eyes, kidneys, body’s rage
Every part of the body
Starts falling apart
What remains intact is man’s heart
Body admits defeat
While mind is still in conceit
Which keeps growing fonder
As the caravan moves yonder.
Little can be said in favour of age
For young limbs claim all the praise
Youth and follies dot the life
Which causes confusion
And all the strife
The passion to do doth finally subside
When men propose but gods decide
We sit looking at the river of life
Passing along in its usual stride.
To ageing bones some memories stick
Which in youth made us click
Some faces who often
Visited us in dreams
Now shine like moon beams
The heart turns
Into a temple discrete
In which we burn the incense sticks
Of long lost love and desire
Which was buried before it caught fire.
***
SPOILSPORT
Whatever I do, has two levels
Of significance
One, what it accomplishes
And on a larger scale
How it affects the cosmic forces
Every day, future flows into us
We catch the present
And turn it into the past
Life is the transformer of time
Makes the future present and leaves it past-ed.
We sometimes fail to negotiate
The flow and it so happens
That future moves into past
Without being
Thoroughly present-ed.
Because men keep their eyes riveted
On the past,
And miss the fast rush
Of time falling in torrents
In the courtyard of the present.
We play spoilsport for the divine
Who keeps the flow up
And instead of sailing on the
Surge of the present
We take to the rear wheel.
________________
