Dr T.S. ANAND was Professor of English for two years in the University of Sirte, (Libya, 2009 – 2011). Earlier he had retired as Principal of Gujranwala Guru Nanak Khalsa College, Ludhiana (India) in 2008. He has authored, edited and co-edited 18 books of creative literature and criticism, and published research papers on Indian English Literature, American, Afro-American and American-Jewish literature. President of Indian Association for American Studies (2002-2004), an academic body of university – college teachers in India. Curently, Dr. T.S. Anand lives in Canada and edits Literary Voice: A Peer Reviewed Journal of English Studies.
Table of Contents
ToggleREFLECTIONS ON MOTHER ’S DAY
Don’t mind, my first love
if my drugged drowsiness
switches off the mains
and misses ritualistic remembrance.
How to forget the transition
from infancy to crawling
from prattle to chatter
overseen by smiling mien,
the prelude to
cunning and cheating,
awakening the strangeness
in making and breaking
to push upwards
or drag downwards?
His departure ushered in
a world of woes
soaked with throes of blight
of abject penury
and social taunts
as hearth awaits fuel
stomachs growl
deprivations reign
an awful drain
on man-in-making
wrenching and straining.
Bounties of indulgent love
drilled trust in Him
and faith in self
that shed cast-offs
to don new mantle
of service sans self
of selfless absorption
beyond distortions
to nurture siblings
with love and care
sans cold stare.
A lot had happened
when you were gone
in pools of misery
I was nearly drowned,
the inputs on life
streaming in system
kept me afloat
as seasons changed
others disowned
the darling siblings
nurtured on lullabies.
Each year
as the day draws near
search for words
in moments of scare
but can I square
in the remaining years
of uncertainties and fears
or pay a fraction
of the debt so rich
maternally darned
in life’s tunic?
BEFORE EPIPHANY
With aching limbs
and falling vision
a heavy baggage
of million treasons
searching in greens
and sandy zones
on top of hills
in mysterious caves,
awakened by
deafening conches
and calls for prayers
quest persists
in cosy laps
varied forms
of broken commands
or narcissistic dips
on the treadmill of life
myriad losses or gain
recurring bruises
of sufferable pain
that visit often
like hibernating stream
The elusive metaphor
changing hues
running wildly
offering no clues,
words eternally ring
‘some day or some other day’
waiting abides
wisdom chides
as innocent charm
slowly subsides.
No sign
of the elusive glue
ever yearned
ever spurned
as appetite gnaws
and drills the mind
like worm of sins
needling the numbness
with pricks and pins,
rejuvenated urges
cherished long
seeking satiation
in epiphany of bliss.
REBORN
Essaying a glance
at deserted paths
meandering through
mossy tracks
of anguished soul
as mind
leaps beyond
fathomable equations
tormented by
macho stances
firmly rooted
in antique commands
coursing through
mute dumb
preceding generations.
Adulation averted
dignity subverted
always a game
for minds perverted,
measured my being
in corporeal norms
without qualms,
a punching bag
for nocturnal delights,
trampled feelings
under brutish heels
the absurdities enacted
yet no one feels.
A solicitous look
caressing touch
persona non grata
for the dressed doll
strings manipulated
by hoary hands
and insane minds.
Staleness reigns
dungeons of ‘bliss’
of orderly life
sister to abyss
visitors not speak
but only hiss.
As life exists
quest persists
to decipher destiny
ordained by oracles
a life of shackles
eternal battles
against pillory
shams of glory
an old long story
passed as gospel.
Sphinx rises
sky is domain,
surveyor of
terrific terrains
trailing behind
coffins of restrain,
vision mirrors
virgin plains
dizzy hills
peaks of glory,
that pave the way
for a new story.
Prepared Angela Kosta Academic, journalist, writer, poet, essayist, literary critic, editor, translator.