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.
Author Archives: Parneet Jaggi
The Embrace
The embrace that steals you,
like a pearl secretly picked from the sea,
as a tremolo that benumbs you
from the innumerable sounds of the world
to leave you in the company of a glitter-
a matte, flattened, embedded glitter of the pearl,
naked, pure,
in essence and beauty,
deprived of the gaudy finery,
is the embrace one lives for.
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.