Author: Harpreet Chhachhia

Red and blue and green and yellow,
Maroon, orange and white,
From the dullest shade possible
To that startlingly bright.

The flowers, sitting one on one,
Nodding, kissing, calling;
My wings, beating one on one,
Being kissed, often stalling.

I sip sweetness from coloured lips,
I am brighter than all,
My hues are such, that e’en Beauty
Is held in wondrous appal.

But I have so short a lifetime,
And the one I desire
Has to journey to garden,
All fenced within a barbed wire.

“Let him go, set him free,” the rose
Cries in its redness to me.
“If he returns,” adds the sweet pea,
“It was all meant to be.”

My wings lower to hold the sun,
As I sit, think and tear –
While Hope battles with Fear –
Wonder if God will be the one,
In loss, to keep me near.

“Ere he dies, let him go and live,”
The sun says in his life.
I think (again): “So, he lives not
When he stays in my sight.”

Four days I spend of my week’s life –
To think. Then, “Go,” I say,
And he’s gone – not a backward glance –
The wind eats up his way.

Three more days to all –
All that I have to do;
God is near and he says, “Choose: wait,
“Or start your life anew.”

Two more days and he is not back,
“Wait,” rose, sun, sweet pea cry,
But I, too, have my dream; I, too,
Have to live ere I die.

Others flap their glorious wings,
All around, about me,
And I know, I’ve no time to see,
If ‘twas all meant to be.

Red and blue and green and yellow,
Maroon, orange and white,
From the dullest shade possible
To that startlingly bright.

The flowers, sitting one on one,
Nodding, kissing, calling;
Then those petals fly in the wind,
Falling, falling, falling.