It was essential to be born

Only in the sky

Where earth proposes

No restrictions which are

After all due to its own gravitation.

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   

THE FLIGHT

I often craved for freedom

Independence from limiting formations

Of mind, body and society

Was it not great

If man too could fly

Untrapped by any complexes?

For such a flight

It was essential to be born

Only in the sky

Where earth proposes

No restrictions which are

After all due to its own gravitation.

Is there any bird which can fly fly fly

And never return to the earth?

Is it possible for a bird to fly

Up and up, without finally shedding

Its mortal remains?

Who can defy the sway of the clay?

Whenever I flew,

I always flew close to the earth

To which I belong

Here was the lowly grass

And wild growth

Which gave me the feeling of flying high.

If I flew very high,

On a mission of no return

I am a body, shall I not burn?

The sky cannot suck me.

Will it not return me to my earthly town?, 

To talk of my exploits and my fair renown

I feel bad and turn sad to see 

What is the fate of freedom

And gods granted it to me

One experimental basis

Where I stand?

Those who fly, finally touch the land.

***

GHULAM

The people who are born here

And die here

Do not vanish into thin air

Bodies perish in the earth

But not the souls

Which, according to the baggage

Of previous incarnations

Are repacked by changing

The registration number on the engine.

A new avatar appears on the earth

Oblivious of its antecedents

And, in its ignorance,

Creates more confusions

So that gods too feel convulsions

At men’s doings

And they wonder why men

Forget everything

And the carry no wisdom along.

We have not been created from first class material.

We are all recycled material

We are the kings and queens of yore

And ‘ghulams’ (slaves) on whose timeless labour

They survived

All of them are here

The victims as well as the victors.

But we have left the darker times behind

As the times change

We are now in a better condition

Life is more liveable

Even for the erstwhile slaves now

Civilization has brought benefits

Which they cannot be denied

I tend to feel happy.

But next moment I am nudged by

A strange thought

Not bodily, but mentally

We are slaves of technology

We are driven forward

By a few masters of the universe

Who hold our button

In their hands

Is it freedom to die the death of oxen

Who drove carts and we drive cars?

__________________

Read: Paint – Mystic Poetry from India

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