Is in a script which looks blank to you
Pardon me, angels, if you find me listless and lost.
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
LOST
Why you expect perfection from me?
Even a normal performance
Is not possible
If you just tell the role
To a person when he is called to stage.
Don’t give me examples of
Musicians or artists.
Who know what they are doing
And who have a whole
World of training masters.
I had no idea what was to be done
And the masters that I had
Had no guidelines
So most of what they taught me
Was approximate, and fell out of syllabus.
Have mercy, angels,
Don’t expect perfection from me
Don’t compare me with music maestros
Who do not go to stage
Until they have thoroughly practised their notes
I am highly disadvantaged
I can’t read what is written
And whatever I write
Is in a script which looks blank to you
Pardon me, angels, if you find me listless and lost.
***
NARCOGENS
Drugs are things of unfair renown
Keep you on the high
And then,
Sooner than later,.
Tumble you down.
All men are on narcotics
Otherwise,
Fans and ropes
Would be much more
In demand than they now are.
Illusion is the greatest narcotic
Supplied from above
Without billing
And from day one
We start living on them.
Illusions give life to pipedreams.
It is our sense of self-importance
Which gives substance
To our wish to stay
Even beyond all obstacles
Hatred is a great narcotic
Which keeps you on tenterhooks
And does not let you rest
Till the target is shot down.
And buried ten feet deep beneath the earth
.
Love too serves as an imported drug
Some name to be remembered
And drunk on,
Every moment of the day
And dream of when you slide into the grey
Some ideas, some ideals,
Some passions,
Which give us a sense
Of universal love
Fall in the category of drugs
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