Stiff like water, humans precious

Their egotistical sublime

Unlike a river,

Like a horse of a long race,

Leaves a lot of space

For kindness and grace.

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 honoured 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 EGOTISTICAL SUBLIME

Water can be stiff in its constitution

And steadfast in its nature

Who can complain

When it overrides you

Or just underwrites you

And takes your breath away?

But a river is to blame

If it does not negotiate its way

It handles naughty waves

And does not mind

If someone from the bank

Jumps in to have a bath

Water has an exalted ego

And it won’t let anyone

Play with it

If it finds something fishy,

It loosens vampires

And brings down empires.

Humans too precious

Their egotistical sublime

Stiff like water

The weather they face

Unlike a river who leaves

Space for kindness and grace.

Stiff like water, humans precious

Their egotistical sublime

Unlike a river,

Like a horse of a long race,

Leaves a lot of space

For kindness and grace.

***

THE POET

When you read my poetry,

If you see me nothing

Except me, my frailties

Which I profer as great strengths

If I talk only about

My achievements, my cap

Which wears many a feather

If I have nothing else to talk

Except what I have said

In my this poem and that

In my this book and that

Branding about what I say

If from my text you are missing

He is missing, she is missing

The pain of the earth

Is missing

What use is my joy

In what I have written

Which you must know

And I brandy about.

The highest peak

Proud in its singular glory

Bends in humility

When a powerful soul touches it

Lofty minds are humble

Because from a high cliff

They can see

The shallows and the heights together.

Who does not want to be remembered?

Loved and desired?

What if

I too harbour that wish?

Oh! How I was filled with myself

In my text I find my own pain,

My own joy

And nothing except me.

I touched none

Who could weep over my death,

Who could feel my loss

And remember me when I am gone.

Published under International Cooperation with "Sindh Courier"