Poems by Jernail S. Aanand
Wisdom has a history of extreme struggle
Ending sometimes in poison
Powerful men fear it
And kill it in the garbh graha,*
Like the demon king Kamsa.*
It is a tablet which is forcibly administered
For men do not go for it easily
And once it starts working,
They feel ‘sajj’ for committing ‘suicide’.
When Govind administered this potion
He declared his death wish.
Same we see carried out
In case of Daronacharya.
Karna too felt himself off line
When he was made to see
The truth of his existence
And he invited Arjuna for his ‘vadh’.*
All these men who were moving
Proud in Andh Kaala
Saw light at the behest of the Lord
And chose their own end to seek relevance
Suicide intelligent or otherwise
Is a deathwish which follows
Which comes to men after
A detached evaluation
When they suspend the operations
Of the world, and connect simultaneously
With inner and the outer reality
Spreading till eternity
This eternity when confronted in human robes
Gives us a right assessment of
What we are and where we are
And how we have woven our way
Through the Andh Kaala.
Wisdom which the world teaches
And wisdom which the cosmos believes
Are at variance
And it is never too late to take a U turn
The moment the realisation is upon us.
*sajj means ready, prepared for an action
*vadh is putting to death
*grab graha: the prison where Lord Krishna was born ..here it means in the embryonic form
*Kamsa was the demon king killed by Lord Krishma
THE VACANT ROAR
From noise to voices is a gentle transition.
I hear the noise of vehicles
And the noise of ambitious minds
My hands do not listen to my inner voice,
And I do not know
What gods in their silence
Want to say.
Even in shrines, I carry a mind
Working at full speed,
Like the noise of an aeroplane
Meant to cut the winds at the high skies.
Gods are not silent, nor inactive,
They just wonder at my speed,
At my passion.
I make a hundred pleas with them.
Ask for this,
With the death of my enemies.
Pray for my own well being.
Going to shrines after highriding,
I ask for a son, or a bride for my daughter.
Gods wonder at my wisdom.
Ohhh this noise. The noise outside
Stands nowhere against the noise
Of my inside.
So loud it is, I fail to hear the soft voice
Of my conscience.
Sometimes I wonder it has left me.
I have a feeling I am a river without waters.
And my vacant roar frightens me.
I hear my own voice, only when
The engine comes to a halt,
When I visit this deserted road
Which leads me into the heart of peace,
Trees, fields, birds, butterflies, squirrels
They set the soft music on,
And silence my agitated nerves.
Here, I find my inner voice.
I listen to my body. My soul. My Prayers.
I find my hands and my heart
Are not at variance.
I feel I am one, a whole,
When my parts join the symphony
of Silence, the Graceful Peace of the Deserted Land.