The brain is being shifted
To machines
We are left off with buttons only.
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
FROM BRAIN TO BUTTONS
A human being is a pack of infirmities
He is full of sickness, fear,
And lives on hope
What he has
He is not happy with the tip
But runs after the invisible iceberg
This questing spirit has brought the world
Far away from the mediaeval blind faith
And fear of Gods
And made him understand
And even tinker with the phenomenon
And he is a great success
Knowledge is power, we often say
These inspiring and perspiring words
But when we look at man’s history
This statement seems misplaced
Because, knowledge
Has turned to be man’s Achilles’ Heel also.
It is his greatest weakness
To know more than one should.
As it is if you do not know things
To a certain level
We should not forget why Devil
Wanted Eve to taste the fruit of knowledge.
Knowledge makes man great,
But small too at the same time
Knowledge has grown like a Colossus
And man has turned a pigmy
The brain is being shifted
To machines
We are left off with buttons only.
Men if they acquire knowledge
Can tread the path of Wisdom
And beyond that
Lies the Realm of Light.
But, we are competing with machines
In the domain of knowledge only,
Can we expect Wisdom from machines?
***
THE UNWILLING WORKERS
Can you ask a person
To dance against his will?
And can a person
Who has no taste for singing
Like your poet, forced to sing?
The songs, the dancers, and the artists
Make events immortal
Only when their body, their heart,
Their entire being is enjoying
The thrill of their actions.
A person like me
Who writes poetry at the slightest
Provocation,
If made to sing, or dance
Or even paint, is it possible
Without putting the harmonium at risk.
If the life is common place
And people, jacks of all trades
If masters are missing
The joy of creation too is
Missing from this world
I do not want to work
When it is 5 pm
But the boss makes me sit
On Sunday, the principal holds
The teachers to satisfy her power hunger
Millionaire doing chores against their will.
Are all those who get jobs happy?
Those who are underpaid
How much interest
They can take in their work?
***
GOD’S PLENTY
I look back and in the mist of centuries
I find a few translucent figures
To whom I belong
Whose DNA rests in my blood
My veins, my thoughts
And my very being.
Most prominent of all is Walt Whitman,
Prof. Puran Singh
And great Shiv Batalvi, who is more
A brother, than a father figure
You will find Shakespeare
Wordsworth, Shelley, and Eliot
And more prominently
Victor Hugo, Gorky and Tolstoy
When I get into a rage,
Over things which violate my ethos,
I find my blood surge with
An impulse from the Guru,
And a passion for a just world
Which comes from Bhagat Singh, Tagore
And Neta Ji Subhash Chander Bose
If you ask me what I love most,
As an Indian, I love Tiranga
And the song
Sare Jahan Se Achha
And the tune Jana Gan Man
These are my Indian loves.
But I am much more than an Indian
I am a cosmologist
I love this Kaya, this body,
And this Kayanaat (the universe)
The winds, the waters, the mountains
The birds, animals, and squirrels,
And lesser beings
All are objects of my love.
I am in the midst of God’s plenty
Finally, my true ancestor
Is God Himself
He has created this Universe
Only to support my life
And I am here to support Him
In his Eternal Design of Creation
And Never to Let Him Down.
________________
Great philosophy underlies this poem of yours, dear Dr. Jernail, but there is no substance for the race of Cain which is bound by a chain of daily needs. Getting out of the condition of need implies first of all having fewer children, then thrown into the folds of the atavistic common ignorance. A global reset is needed to arrive at the essence of the divine, not of the animalistic and bestial heritage that he has dragged in his DNA for millennia.