Author: Harpreet Chhachhia

Just me and nothing else but.

To the Young One.

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Man, your words were sharp and your voice was strong,
You meant to hurt and you succeeded well,
All I asked was you – an entire night long,
And I was offered a brief glimpse of hell.
You cut to the quick, when you doubted me
And my offer to protect. When you know:–
That, all my life, I lived in the fantasy
Of basking in a man’s protective glow.

Since that is not my fate to have, young one,
I, perhaps, should wizen up and think:
I could ignore the signs and have my fun,
Then jump ship as it is about to sink;
Or think of our future as one needs to
And kill the fantasy and protect you.

22 January
5:30am

When the Heart Breaks.

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They say that when a heart breaks
there is no sound –
Funny, I could hear every sound –
I heard its beat when it fell in love,
I sighed when i heard it sigh
Knowing things would die,
I listened to the beats skip,
When the news came of goodbye –
And I heard it when it was silent by and by.
Then I felt the sound that tore out,
It was like blood being splattered,
From a high rise to the pavement below –
When you refused to recognise it.
The sound was like – well, blood,
Needed but yet spurned, as it pumps
In vain out from a severed artery.
The thing broke – and I heard each beat
Magnified in my ear – and I wondered
Embarrassed, if all could hear it on the street.

They say when the heart breaks, there is no sound –
The sound to me –
Was like the sky crashing upon the ground.

29th April

Wings.

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Sun sets in the West,
Waving goodbye from his chariot of gold;
The kestrels soar and follow,
In ones and twos like knights of old.

Blue turns white with heat,
Nearest to the swooping chariot’s gleam;
The knights drop and soar lower –
The white bursts into colour from beam to beam.

Wings fall, beat once and lift
Eyes keen look upon the hastening King.
Years have passed and all’s same:
Of this Parade there’ve been many songs to sing.

Wind through its feathers,
One Knight circles effortlessly in bliss,
And I, below, look up
And believe that sky, those colours are his.

So it was when I was a child,
So it is now that I am old,
As the Sun sets in the West,
Waving good bye from his chariot of gold.

28th April
6p.m.