Poems by Dr Jernail S Aanand from India

Επιμέλεια: Εύα Πετροπούλου Λιανού


Now it is parents,
And siblings
And when grown up,
He needs a permanent partner
From whom, a few souls.

This is the soap of life
Man is the only species
Who depends
So much on others
To the extent of feeling insecure.

Animals and birds feel more secure
How soon they leave
Their offspring!
And how they don’t know.
Who is where.

This over-sensitivity of mankind
Is it a sign of civility
Or a symbol
Of their inbred insecurity?
Telling upon their survival instinct?

The more we dote on our offspring
The greater is their incapacity
To withstand
The might of elements
Finally weakening the cause of humanity.


Perfection is a pipe dream
Neatly defined
Only in dictionaries
With several synonyms and antonyms.

But life defies all such definitions
Creation has a perfect design
Which we often find
Taken for a ride

Not only men,
Even gods are known to have fought
Each other as many times
As they fought the devils

And they are always at war
With their world
Which does not believe
In the virtues thay hold dear

People live and live out of life
As ignorant at the end
As they were
When the journey began.

The real game that the gods play
Is they strip us of our memory.
Recreate us
And refloat us.

We are recycled material
No memory
Except faint reflexes
Which sometimes mark our dreams.

And that is what makes us helpless
In front of  gods
Who know us better
And  smile at our witless moves.


Home means wife
Wife means kids
Kids mean life
All together mean kitchen.

No kitchen,
No home.
No family
Only freedom.

Love is an alien product
Right is right
Fight for right is righteous.
Righteous or riotous?

Food is fast
Fast is the in thing
Running since morning
Do you have time for food?


The most comfortless moment
It was as when I was
Made to realise
I did not matter at all.

What a high opinion I had of myself
A man with certain ideas
And if not Muse herself
Atleast a facade of her around

I talked in high decibels
As if only I knew
The secrets
On which  the wheels moved

I never realised that knowledge
Was like a junk heap
A thousand things
Lying scattered and unused

Whenever a need arises,
We move into that junkyard
And try to fish out things
Which fit into the present  necessity

I had a lot of it at my command
Yet when I looked into the mirror
I had weird thoughts
Is it Me? 

A shapeless figure would stand
Staring at me
Telling me it is Me
Leaving me out of faith, out of breath.

The world whose mirror it was
Believed in things
Which did not believe in me.
Which turned my being existless.