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).  

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.

***

A view of dried up Indus River in Sindh

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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Published under International Cooepration with "Sindh Courier"