Author Archives: Parneet Jaggi

About Parneet Jaggi

Parneet Jaggi teaches English in Rajasthan, India. She has four collections of poems in English-" Beyond Words" , "Show me How Not to Grow", "Live Love Light" and "Euphonies Of Heart And Soul". Her books, "Matthew Arnold and the Bhagavad Gita: A Study of His Poems" and "Social and Economic Values in the Teachings of Sikh Gurus" reveal her love for religion and philosophy. She is a bilingual poet(English, Punjabi), editor, critic and novelist. Recently her novel "The Call of the Citadel" (co-authored) was released on Amazon. It is a historical fiction revisiting the Indus Valley Civilization and its enigmatic landscape.

A Drop of Lemon

A drop of lemon fell into
the glass of water,
transforming it’s texture, aroma, taste, personality, value,
followed by more drops to make it an appetizing lemonade.
Once water, now carries a flavour,
to maneuver in combination with inner liquids.
A drop of love falling into the heart
transforms the texture, aroma, taste , personality, value,
followed by more drops to make
an immortalized mortal.
Once a human, now carries the traits
of the divine combining the human juices of survival.

Identity

What if the word ‘Identity’ vanished
from books and bowls of language platters-
that serve spicy peppers coated with saccharine chocolates
that glues to the root cavity
to be ruthlessly extracted with the tooth,
for the decay
induces a  twinge
that travels like a stream
meandering its way
through the uninhabited ,
untamed terrains.
The identity dish savours the palate
lending a prismatic taste to tongue,
but pokes a tint of colorlessness
in the  gushing waters of the self
that flow to reach the source.

(Published in Setu Jan 2020)

Sounds in a Potpourri

Clarion sounds of birds
mingle with the screaming horns,
A blend crosses the ears
each day as life passes,
the acoustic tastes change tremendously, 
Ears becoming dauntless
with sounds in a potpourri,
odours poured in profusion, 
sounds coming from nowhere,
anywhere.
Trains, tractors, birds, bees,
thunder, thuds, shouts,  screams,
repressed, restrained human voices-
buried, manifested, distraught, distressed.
Lovely roulades of nature subdued,
we fail to appease the clamour. 
Concinnity is missing amongst the chorus,
Picayune sounds hold the stage.

Splendour of Roses


The splendour of roses-
standing erect, elegant,
displaying the hue-
 neither pink nor red,

a bit orange, a little peach,

as a fort of a maharaja emitting the royal resplendence

through the candelabra reflecting myriad colours.
A territory of joy,
transcending human language.

How many new colours should I coin?
Each flower is neither  pink nor red,

a bit orange, a little peach.
A hundred more names
 through the pages of the dictionary

reach my mind,

yet  the colouring of these  aromatic gifts

remains an enigma.

They bloom, they smile, they perish.
I learn in each spring that
 roses in my garden
are just a contrast with the green grass.

Love Transforms

It is not about loving a person
or a cat
or a lovely garden reflecting myriad colours
or a gift kept close to heart
or a car that fulfills a hundred dreams
or a house where  soul seems to reside
or the attires that give the joy of being you.
Love surpasses all.
A wave  carries with it loads of energy
emanating from invisible cores of the being
circulating all around 
to lend  a fresh vision-
a vision of eternity, 
wherein the mundane considerations  find no  place,
where the  organs,
though still the same,

 refuse to behave the way they are trained,
Eyes shut themselves to open to subtler visions,
Ears turn inward to a wordless world,
Mind waits not for the lover to appear and make love.
Pain within carries the strength
enough to move the planets.
This is how love transforms. 

The Divine Calculator

 

I wonder at the divine calculator

Where each digit carries

the weight of millions of micro digits

 divided into still smaller fractions.

How the flow of karmas is discerned and recorded

 when humans conceal tonnes of trash

 in the dark recesses of their

highly mechanized, unyielding brains.

How records of eon have been impeccably kept

without an assistant .

The immaculate regulation of rewards and punishments

 leaves one in a wonder,

beyond the grasp of the tiny machine

the world takes pride in.

Trail of Trees


Passing by speedily

trees of memories

enter the empty spaces of  mind

to stay there for years to come.

Trail of incidents

passes by in the same manner,

disturbing the connate spaces

of  mind,

Deterring it from treading

the path of peace.

It takes ages to deterge accumulations .

A short journey

fills the basket of memories to the brim

overflowing

a motley of emotions-

drip drop drip drop

leaving one busy for a lifetime,

wiping out stains

of a volatile flow.

One keeps busy ,

looking out of the window

of the moving train,

collecting visions,

gathering memories,

breathing  joys.

Moraine gathered by glaciers

waits for showers ,

Takes months and years

to wash away.

A Gift


Went around searching

the market, the mall, the narrow alley,

all brimming with colourful

bargains to take home.

Went around peeping through the windows

of bedazzling jewellers,

looking for a glittering relic,

to honour you.

Tried much to look into my wardrobe

to part with a special possession of mine.

Tried still to craft a necklace

of the  rare jewels I had collected over the years.

Thought over to present you a token of my talent-

 an immortal melody in my voice,

write a lyric or an ode to our friendship.

But I found them all low for you.

The  pedestal holding our love is high,

Therefore,

my prayer is the only gift

I offer

 in no wrappers,

or sparkling ribbons tied around,

just silence and a glitter in my eye.

Reducing Humanity

Concinnity we wish on earth

Effulgence we desire in personalities

Beauty we want to relish all around

Peace we prognosticate

Ebullience we look for in ourselves.

But the arduousness to expunge others,

devising canards

is getting intrinsic

as haemoglobin in blood,

using chicanery in all spheres

reducing humanity to a mere formicary,

walking in long queues

from paths of heaven to gates of hell.