Author Archives: Parneet Jaggi

About Parneet Jaggi

Parneet Jaggi teaches English in a Post Graduate college in India. She has four collections of poems in English-" Beyond Words" (Writers Workshop, Calcutta, 2018), "Show me How Not to Grow" (Cyberwit, Allahabad, 2017), "Live Love Light" (Writers Workshop, Calcutta, 2014) and "Euphonies Of Heart And Soul" (Cyberwit, Allahabad, 2013). Her poems have been published in journals like The Enchanting Verses International Journal, the Taj Mahal Review, Contemporary Literary Review India, The Criterion etc. 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.

Aroma of Love

One emotion encompasses all piety,
not needed to showcase
in the splendour of colours and perfumes.
Love has its own colour- matchless.
An aroma,
that swirls inside the core of existence. 
The heart may be made of cells-
(living or dead)
or whatever else scientists may name.
Aroma touches the core,
spreads like smoke,
invisibly in the whole being,
emanates from the voices
and gaits of lovers.

Aroma of love embraces
all pathies, isms and faiths.
A  puff  of locked gases
which can be locked no more,
erupts like a volcano,
flows down , 
stratifies uneven lands.
Hot molten lava of love
holds the power
to eliminate filth of the world
and to erect high peaks 
on new mountains.


Love This, Love That

‘Love this, love that’,

‘Like this, like that’,

seems like a script given to act,

a few moments of rehearsal,

then the performance,

then time to slip back to one’s tiny shell,

As  Cleopatra sits on a burnished throne on stage

to find herself back on floor back-stage,

Come back again,

the script is ready,

‘Love this, love that’,

Like this , like that,

love the dog on the street,

an ant entering the hole,

the cow feeding its calf,

not to forget the peepal tree

emitting oxygen day and night,

and yes, one’s parents too,

each lesson taught in books,

defining words,

constructing languages,

barriers along with,

when the heart feels not the same.

Where has the inherent humanity gone?

‘Love this, love that’

has to be taught each day

to prevent grasslands

 turning into arid deserts.

A Class for Expecting Mothers

A class was held,
Expecting mothers sat in a row,
ready for a fruitful lecture
from the most erudite scholars.
Their babies were expected
to add to the light of their world soon,
resting in dark for the few blessed days.
Class had all arrangements
to dress up the thirty upcoming leaders
with cloaks of treachery. 
There were lectures on identity, 
a favourite topic with the learned elites.
Talks on race, caste, religion 
topped the pudding.

Talks on mannerisms, grooming, polishing,

Losing the inherent human etch,

Losing the real breath connection with the universe .
Do’s and not do’s garnished 
the food of living.
Very soon,

 programmed and chipped beings

 with two arms and two legs
would grace the earth
and prepare lectures for unborn generations.

Waiting for the Gift

Denatured by the patriarchal umbrella

Cannot breathe well,

peepal tree trying hard

to transfuse sufficient oxygen

but  lungs do not let enter.

Invisible cobwebs strangle tight

stifling all passages of air.

Artistic rapture seems a tale of last birth

the verve faded away-

to write,sing, dance,

sway with the breeze,

flow with the wind,

feel the drops of rain

 on the parched face,

watch the rarest birds

compliment nature .

Will wait

for the gift

of another birth

to tune with the chords of nature,

to feel the zest of being a human

in the dichotomized world of

“Let her live”

“Let her not live.”

Climbing a Hill

Climbing a hill

 mind drew beautiful pictures,

 Ensnaring beauty of the sky

I was close,

Grandeur of pine trees

 shaded with a perfect hand,

Cool breeze tickling the face,

Tiny droplets teasing the skin,

 A Journey to relish

 reaching an el dorado

 glittering as a jewel

 I always wanted to adorn myself with,

 Climbing was a pleasure

shins ached yet lent a joy,

 Reached well in time

 Before it was the dark of life,

 now no air

 live without oxygen. 

 On the lofty hills of love

 carry a special heart

 designed to beat like the one

 not the millions. 

I Think of You…

When hands tremble

and refuse to lift the requisite loads of life,

When legs shiver

and refuse to take me to places,

When eyes feel the pain

due to the dust of life-

Invisible yet irking,

When brain is clouded with a grey haze

not letting light inside,

I think of you

who will adore me without these,

Embrace me in the dark of my life,

Hold my finger to help me tread

the remaining path of my life.

A Dramatic Story of Humans

Humans were
Heaven men
All was true.
Now they are hue-men
coloured with shades of ego,

It is a world of the minds
wanting to subdue more minds.
The real ‘we’ disappeared 
somewhere amid the clouds.
We sit in meditation to find the lost ‘we’.
Mind takes over
to see the existence evaporating repeatedly. 
Humanity now
is a story of minds
not of existence.
Ideas proliferating like cells in body,
Seemingly outweighing oxygen in the air.
A dramatic story of humans,  the superior race.

An Appetite

All through the sunny days of childhood

I kept nurturing my brain

Looking after the minutest needs

Toning it with the best lubricants

To excel in tasks given to me

Flattering it with all buttery phrases

So that it gives me all the pleasure

the world asks for.

Poured in almonds

Tuned it to the finest stores of knowledge –

To find one fine morning

That it had its reins tied to the heart

That would not listen to its pleas-

Logical and empirical.

Heart measuring distances

Finding ways to squeeze them

To grab them

And keep in its wrist

Deciphering new scriptures of love

Hidden in sands of time.

Wanting to unravel

All that the world does not want

Lest its pursuit of pleasure is hampered.

Heart knows no petty pleasures

Carries an appetite

For ecstasies

Rare and unfound.

What is Lost? No Idea

Gyres of thoughts

Spiraling up and down,

Rottening the whole being

Earned in births,

Karmas and sanskaras

Like coins of gold and silver,


Awakening the being from slumber,

Thoughts intoxicating

to sink deep into the abyss,

Where one can’t find oneself

What is lost? No idea.

Mind can think

Heart can feel

What is lost? No idea.

Senses perceive sumptuous sights

so full of life.

What is lost? No idea.