Author: Harpreet Chhachhia

Just me and nothing else but.

Dreams.

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He wanders through this wild, mad world
In search of soothing dreams,
And like the Lark that sings for All,
He swings on hopeful beams.

He lives amid a throng unknown,
Forsaking many smiles;
And yet the glint within his eye
Does many eyes beguile.

He talks to none about the dreams,
Conveys to none a sigh,
The others think him very queer,
He will not tell them why.

And Hope is never there at all,
And life is foully weak,
There comes a point when dreams are all
A weary heart can seek.

In them love can live forever
And joy is never old;
Courage is always the bravest
And souls are never sold.

In dreams shall he find his solace,
Wherein he freely flies,
They form the home in which he lives,
The tomb in which he dies.

The Twins.

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Storming the brain of the mind of the twin,
Had not the measure of love that would give
Joy, nor the hurt, nor the pain that could win
All the interesting decisions to live

Flying from Worlds where Happiness lives on,
Rested in homes wherein Lust oft deceived –
Laughing and waving with him Hope had gone –
Smilingly, Life in a whisper believed:

“Lying for thee, and then pining for thee,
“Crying for all, to be happy for what?
“Vain and unkind, to be sure, thou shall be,
“Naught to the world, in quandaries caught.”

Just like the Earth, in a dream for the Sun,
Blissfully aches to unite and be one,
Hearts of the two (like the Prodigal Son)
Waiting to feel then be crushed by the ton.

Waiting and waiting, to wait is a curse,
Lasting forever like darkness of death,
Hope has been carried away in a hearse,
Gone and forgotten to never be met.

Life which follows with a staggering sway,
Breathes with the burden of living alone,
Crying in anger and begging her stay,
Losing a twin is a reason to mourn.

Looking in eyes that do kindly seem true,
Life in a dilemma is scared to be weak,
Searching for Hope in a crowd of so few,
Now, to be happy, a love she does seek.

Kites.

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In skies of blue, I spy a speck of gliding brown;
It drops, then turns, the wind holding up its strong wings,
Then drops again to soar high, it moves up, then down,
But ne’er too low to seem a part of earth-bound things.

I gaze at the sight and wonder – that’s all I do –
Just wonder: what would it be like to be that kite?
Alone and high above ground, surrounded by blue,
To move through warm sunlight in an aimless flight?

No place to go, just soar and soar and soar higher,
A vast open with no limits, no goal, no end;
Not bound by chains, just a slave to my own desire,
Not ‘to be’ for a reason, or live to pretend.

4th January
edited 16th February 08