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.
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?
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