The invisible gardener
Knows what is destroying
The beauty of its creation…
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 INVISIBLE GARDENER
The gardener
Prunes
Branches which outgrow
And also those which destroy
Beauty and form
And growth which is unwanted
And disturbs its design.
The hordes of leaves
Cut adrift by the scissors
And sharp sense of beauty
Of the gardener
Often remind me of killings
Of people in millions
Dotting the earth across continents
There is so much injustice
So much cruelty in the world of men,
Thousands are despatched
Out of the domain of life
For a thousand reasons
Human and inhuman.
In nature too,
Tempests arrive (uninvited?)
Sweeping across human shores
And while going off
Reducing to rubble
Thousands of homes, and hearths
Heads of cattle, bodies and bones.
.
The invisible gardener
Knows what is destroying
The beauty of its creation
These tempests,
Natural and human,
Are beauty saloons at work
To keep the beauty of the original design intact.
***
THE SINKING HEART OF THE RIVER
The river looked romantic
In its ceaseless flow
Its banks often basked
With human glow.
How it set
The imaginations at work
And how many minds
Would just go berserk!
They listened to the music
Which came far off from the caves
And praised the beauty
Of its dancing waves
Some bewitched by its magic
Who left the shores
And entered its depths
Were listening to its primal snores.
Dancing parties at the banks,
By men and women,
Half-drenched
Left the river somber and unquenched.
How many entered the waters
To clasp the ‘beautiful’ show?
Dying, crying, sighing and sinking
Into the depths below?
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After reading this poetry, I felt the wave of enjoyment rushes over me.
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