J. MANN
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5/19/2020 0 Comments

Meanwhile on Earth

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Never before have I felt this kind of temporariness and uncertainty transcend my existence. This poem, that I wrote long ago came to my mind during this time.
​*click on the pic to hear the poem.

​

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4/25/2020 0 Comments

While we Live

Happy to share some poems that I wrote during this lockdown. Kindle edition available here:
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0 Comments

3/25/2020 0 Comments

Today

Today practice what you preach. Don't talk about the boredom of work from home. Don't talk about your difficulties. Think about people who are nudged into margins and documented in statistics. Pay your maid. Pay all those people who worked for you. Pay them now because a few rupees will save a life, a family. When you voice all those challenges about working from home, remember those people who don't have a voice!
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2/29/2020 0 Comments

Sad to see things unfold in the country

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2/16/2020 0 Comments

What's your fireground?

Yes, that's how you look
you look at clouds and not see the rain
you look at life and not see the pain.
-Jaspreet Mann


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1/10/2020 0 Comments

Maybe

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11/27/2019 0 Comments

For a long time

For a long time they fished in the pockets of their well worn jeans
For a slice of the moon lost during childhood
For the drop of rain that went waste
For the twittering of birds that was silenced long ago
For a long time they stood on the stairs
staring into space, spaced out like forgotten constellations
talking to  a sky that had never heard their names
For a long time, they were there looking at nowhere
For a long time, they were there in the heart of everywhere.

© Jaspreet Mann
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11/10/2019 1 Comment

Indeed a landmark film that puts things into perspective

This riveting film that unravelled human tragedy of unparalleled proportions introduced me to a poet. While I was listening to John Musgrave, I knew in an instant that he had the soul of a poet. And my instincts were right! Like all people, who struggle to come to terms with life, he embraced poetry.  His poems in 'Notes to the man who shot me: Vietnam War Poems', are unflinchingly honest, bone-chillingly frightening as you understand the pain behind the seemingly simple words.  His poems made me shiver to the extent that I could actually feel the napalm in the combat zone. This is not a book review. This is a salute to the spirit of the man who could recount his horrors through poetry with the hope that his sacrifice would not be just a cold page in history!

"You're exhausted.
You sit in your hole in water up to your waist.
You piss in your pants, what difference does it make, and
      for a few seconds you feel warm.

You're a Marine.
What in hell did you expect?
Remember, In Case Of Rain
           The War Will Not
           Be Held In The
           Auditorium.

Yeah, no shit."
-John Musgrave, Vietnam War Veteran, Counselor, Poet.

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John Musgrave, Vietnam War veteran, Counselor, Poet.
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This brilliant film dispels all myths!!! Unflinchingly HONEST.
1 Comment

11/8/2019 0 Comments

This poem is cold

This poem is cold
it is how people must have felt walking barefeet
in Siberian ice looking for the fire in their bodies
or perhaps, how peasants in Vietnam must have dreaded
the flash of napalm leaving nothing besides ashes
it feels like a patriot lost inside a gulag
wondering if his country finally wrote him an elegy
it writes itself in the language of something imperfect
finding lacunae in the sleeplessness of its tempests
This poem is cold
it is how people walk among the dead looking for life
in the cataclysms of field hospitals in a war torn countryside
or perhaps, how the spirit of slaves must have fragmented
in market places, in bazaars, in streets with Colonial names
it tries to give itself a name, it tries to bridge tears and fears
reason murders romance, rivers run into a seismic seance
it has feet but it cannot walk, it has a mouth but it cannot talk
this poem is cold, it is stringing heartache into a song.
© Jaspreet Mann
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Melancholy, a sculpture created by Romanian artist Albert Gyorgy at Lake Geneva, Switzerland, portrays the void that grief leaves us with.
0 Comments

11/5/2019 0 Comments

Routine

I walk. You walk. We walk. They walk.
Inside our heads the sharp edges of a knife
brushes against memories, scraping the inside.
I smile. You smile. We smile. They smile.
A thousand watts of light blinds our eyes
when there is complete darkness inside.
When it's night, we put our mask aside
hoping we'd never have to wear it again
but in the morning, it is a routine to hide.
© ​Jaspreet mann
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The Heart is half a Prophet

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