SCRIPT – MYSTIC POETRY FROM INDIA

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I am always in suspended animation

Unaware of a thousand things

But I am happy

Gods don’t mind my imperfections.

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

Jernail Singh Anand- Sindh CourierDr. 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   

231009_r43126_rdSCRIPT

Who will meet whom

And who will say what

When they appear

And when disappear.

 

When someone dies,

They bury him

And cry for sometime

But do they really die?

 

We find them in a different role

In another serial

Here too they have

A script of their own.

 

It is an added advantage

To characters of a film

Or a drama,

They hold a script.

 

A script which is

Written by someone

To highlight their character

They cannot utter a word of their own.

 

Am I a part of the cosmic spectacle

And how deficiently placed?

I have no script

Rather, I have to extemporize.

 

I also do not know

When my role will end

How it will end

And when it will end.

 

Did I come unscripted

Was what I did extemporize

My own script?

What I thought my freedom was it a fad?

 

I am always in suspended animation

Unaware of a thousand things

But I am happy

Gods don’t mind my imperfections.

 

They only examine my intentions

They judge me by my actions

And the first and the last

Measure is if I am honest:

 

Whether I did whatever I did

In fear of the judgement day

If I was after goodness

And if I added to the joys of the earth.

***

3019948-HSC00002-7 Saatchi Art
Saatchi Art

SOMETHING SO SPECIAL

I saw so many fruit cut and decorated

In my plate

And when I ate them

I found myself unimpressed.

I had smuggled the fruit in

But like contraband

They did little by way of health

To my body

For, they were only clay images

Meant for models for students

Not to be eaten

Nor meant to satisfy my need.

 

It was a bad experience,

With words too, so many in my plate

Decorated but when eaten

Failing to give any sense of purpose

What if I eat and eat something

And it does not satisfy my hunger?

What use are these food stuffs?

My mouth was munching

Stomach was receiving something

Yet the body felt denied

The joy and the juice of operation eat.

 

I do not leave a story without writing

Its moral

So that when you read it

It goes to your head

And makes a lucid interval

I do not believe in summoning

Words which believe in a false narrative

I do not allow words the freedom

To fly and perch where they like

So long as they are in my poem

They cannot misbehave

 

They once made a plea

For freedom of thought and movement

Words wanted to mean what they wanted

Not what the poet wanted them

To speak and stand for

Words when spoken become Gita

And when written become the Quraan

Freedom to move and fly from the holy text

May lead them into drains of unholy waters

 

Words, learn discipline

Learn to mean what the poet wants you to

One cannot treat words like birds

Shoot them and then cook them

It is not meet to make

Clay models of words,

Words cannot be denied their meaning

Nor their penchant to grow,

Yet words must understand the patterns

In which the poet has forced them

And made them mean something so special.

________________  

Read: Handling Jealousy and Praise – Mystic Poetry from India

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