Every moment is like a station

Offering a rich feast of options

But this luxury proves illusive.

Dr. Jernail Singh Anand, a renowned poet and writer from Chandigarh, India, shares his mystic poetry

Dr. Jernail S. Anand is a Chandigarh-based socialist campaigner, an ideologue who heads the International Academy of Ethics and authored 170 books. Winner of the international award Charter of Morava, his name is inscribed on Poets’ Rock in Serbia. A rare achievement for an Indian author, who was the only one to be honoured by the Serbian Writers Association after Rabindranath Tagore in 1926] Contact: anandjs55@yahoo.com

FIDDLING WITH OPTIONS

Things we don’t want to do

We don’t do for long

The profusion of tracks

Is the prerogative

Of a station,

A voyage cannot afford

Such prosperity.

 

In the beginning,

Before we start out

We may be fiddling with

Jobs of indifferent nature

But we are quick 

In throwing off the unwanted

And pursuing what we really like.

 

Every author after trying his hand

At different genres

Finally comes to settle

For poetry or prose

Fiction or non-fiction

We take up one track

And move on.

 

If we look forward.

Every moment is like a station

Offering a rich feast of options

But this luxury proves illusive

As soon as we move into

The body of a moment

And find it passing by and by.

***

THE FALSE NARRATIVE

There are two stories at work

One that actually takes place

And the other which keeps

The imagination of the actors worked up.

 

What finally happens is dictated by

Man’s will and if gods permit

But there is also a raging river

Of reveries.

 

Wishes, desires, passions,

And even faith

Create

A narrative parallel to human fate.

 

I have visited this earth

And it’s epochs

And found men tumbling

From hope to hope, Pope to Pope.

***

THE FAKE LORE

The generation which believed

In the folk lore,

Has been laid by

And the new that has taken over

Believes in Fake Lore

 

Imagination which filled

Young minds with awe and beauty

And the charms of the known

And the unknown

Has been displaced by

Amazination.

 

The new world that is opening up

To you now is full of fuck lore

Intelligence goes for a spin,

Taken over by Antelligence

And excellence

Falls to excesselence

 

Just write you want to imagine

A home,

It is there with a lady

A few kids and a man

Everything is so nice,

So clean, so quick

What if it does not have life?

***

THE LIVING DEAD

I wake from the deadly sleep.

I look around and find

Supernal beings descended on earth

Flirting and singing tales of eternal love.

 

Is it that I walked with eyes shut?

Or, is it that I had

Eyes bereft of sight?

Senses bereft of senses?

And a mind bereft of mind?

 

I fear

I have lived a death

And rare are the moments

When I lived my life.

 

Blinded of senses

Blinded of mind

Blinded of sight

Blinded of life

Now I realize HOWFOLD blind I am!

_________________   

Read: A HANDFUL OF ASHES – Philosophical Poetry from India