(Photo of Harjeet Singh)

 

 

 

Principal Joginder Singh

Littlies wearing attention-getting outfits
Were lapping up differing types of sweets
on the eve of Diwali festival.
Kinds of fireworks they were detonating
to celebrate the festival. 
With a steady gaze, Principal Joginder Singh was peering at them,
Like others his heart was wanting everything 
but he was as quiet as a lamb.
The poor widow mother couldnŐt pander to him 
with such and such-
He was well aware.
A landlordŐs child became a victim of poverty
In the absence of father,
The contract of the land was not over yet.
The signed bond was not over with still
When he gave up the ghost.
Possessions went in ownerŐs account.
Time was when people of the village 
used to carry his oxes in a pressing need.
Now the empty home rang with sadness
And with his only memento, the widow was
sitting in the yard.
MotherŐs face expressions maybe kid had read,
And her indispensable circumstances.
Carrying English book in the hands
sat in his gate, Principal Joginder Singh.
Further gratified was he while watching others.
On the eve of festival, some involved
English words and to use them in
sentences he had learnt.
And was recalling them in his memory.
Cheery was he with freshly learnt words
in lieu of sweets and state-of-the-art attires,
Ergo, my father Joginder Singh celebrated the Diwali festival.



Liking and disliking via thoughts

When we call someone to mind 
time and again,
No matter on the basis of his talent,
bountifulness, submissiveness,
Physical charm or some other qualities.
Then it is our mentality that someone is also 
reminiscing about us in the same way.
Still love and admiration are partial.
Likings are also one-sided.
We declare the decision as per our personal bias.
No matter he or she has no such waves yet.
Contrarywise, to whom we have 
abandoned in thoughts,
Then we never care for him or her and 
his or her decisions, emotions, proclivities
Maybe despite our negative slant,
Someone is liking and recalling us in memory.
But still and all, love begets love 
is a common axiom.



No one knows

OceanŐs depth is beneathless.
Sorrows in this world are limitless 
SomeoneŐs world has been ransacked 
or been arid and to which side, no one knows.
Elsewhere births are being rejoiced
and somewhere else deathsŐ mourning 
and bewailment run parallel,
none knows where?
From what type of grief someone is decaying otherwhere, none can gauge but God.
The roars of cachinnation are here and steady 
tears are there.
Nuptials are being celebrated delightedly
Time was when nowadays divorced couples
had gone through this gay process,
To what extent someoneŐs avarice for
wealth has reached no one knows.
What types of issues are wandering in
someoneŐs heart only God knows.
In some region, the morn is ascending and 
To other side twilight is subduing.
How many galaxies and planets are above
the firmament no one could know.
Which is the exact day of whole worldŐs
doom can never be gauged.
About our heretofore births and 
next-off births who can tell?
None but the owner of Third eye can tell.
Some former prisoners got emancipated
from shackles,
And next ones been gripped in gyves for offence, like a come and go game.
Some beggar has received abundance with lottery,
And some well-heeled one has come beneath debts strongly through coincidence,
ThatŐs the riddle of this worldly life.
Tyros are joining the jobs with zest and 
old ones taking up retirals with blandness
And now they got fed-up.
it is like a see-saw.
About the accurate day or month of his
own death an astrologer canŐt tell.
Merry journey of some route is going to be 
a final picnic, a telluric man can never judge.
SomeoneŐs prolonged patience and barren lap
would become fruitful whenas? nobody knows.
Love towards God is boundless 
of which saint no one knows.
Each soul of this planet no matter he is 
criminal or docile would get salvation 
one day as to re-establishment of all creatures 
towards GodŐs heaven again from where all we came.
whenas and how long can this process take
only Lord can tell.


© Harjeet Singh

 

Bio:  Harjeet Singh is an Indian English poet and short story writer.He is worldwide published author.He earned a Master's degree in English and bachelorŐs degree in mathematics from his district college Hoshiarpur (Punjab). His father, Principal "Joginder Singh," was a keen lover of the English language and his guidelines have made Harjeet able to grasp some of the fundamentals of this language. His work has appeared in Indian, Canadian & American magazines.Readers can reach him while searching in Google ŇHarjeet Singh Poet or poemsÓ.