He was thinking of huge royalties
Then he saw a shadowy figure
On the head of great fame
Who had written ‘How to make money’!
A Poem by Dr. Jernail S. Anand
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
THE MONEY MAKER
THE MONEY MAKER People were so busy in their day to day life
The main issue was survival.
A man came who said
Survival is not the question.
The question is your dignity
Your honour.
The men went on with their daily chores
No one was interested
In dignity, nor in honour
Someone was trying to deflect
Their attention from daily bread
Living somehow was what stared them.
The man was full of himself,
His ideas, his thoughts
He carried a book also
Then he gathered a few more
Like him, carrying their books
And they started reading to one another
The man would run from
Pillar to post
To sell what he had written
In which no one seemed interested
He organized literary fests
At which happy souls gave a vent to their ire
The man had gone crazy
No one was interested in what he had written
He was thinking of huge royalties
Then he saw a shadowy figure
On the head of great fame
Who had written ‘How to make money’!
The man was running after people
Who were not interested
In his tall talk
About honour and integrity
Whereas they were running around
Crowding around the money maker.
***
THE WAY AND THE WAYFARER
THE WAY AND THE WAYFARERI am not a wayfarer
I am the way
Extending
From far near to far away
Wayfarers come and go
But I stay
I am not a way farer
I am the way
I know what a journey means
It is flowers in the beginning
And thorns
In hours grey
I hear the twinkling sounds
Of young flesh
And the sighs of men,
Torn astray.
A new persons arrives
And moves away
Followed by
A crowd gay
Strange thing is
All have to go
Though each one
Wants to stay.
I am permanent
Born to stay
And silently watch
How people suffer
And cover their way
Millions come and go
A strange connection!
Not one stands behind
To show his affection.
________________
