Author: Harpreet Chhachhia

Just me and nothing else but.

Wherewithal

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I write in contrived rhyme,
Of love found, and of love lost,
Through the years, what I achieved
And exactly what it truly cost.

Why do most get a careless sleep,
When dark thoughts harass me so?
Why do I ask these stupid questions,
When their answers I already know?

Giving of myself comes easy;
Though I am no stranger to my worth;
I ought to be less human to
Carry on life, no matter the hurt.

I am tired of this roller coaster,
I am tired of the bitterness and pain,
I’m even tired of the truthful smiles,
That I know will surely come again.

I know love alters, when it shouldn’t,
I know death hangs around to take us all,
Yet I know I’d do it all just the same,
For I know, I’ve, within, the wherewithal!

Alteration

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia2 Comments

What am I so afraid of,
Or is it that I can’t be
The ideal society
Has fashioned for me?

I try to be someone
That I cannot recognise,
An Achilles, or Zeus,
Who fucks and who lies.
But the mirror keeps laughing
At the medicated disguise.

Am I who I was then,
Or did I become their desire?
Years ago, I became a god
To make love to a loveless liar.

Yet, I was cast away!
(And that became my fear)
How and why must I alter
To keep whom I love near?

If I do succumb
And give in to keep,
Years later, alone and old,
Struggling to sleep,
Could I find myself,
After being buried so deep?

Love

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia3 Comments

It’s a hug
That calms a storm,
A kiss that’s cool rain,
From a sun so warm.

It’s a touch
That stands apart in a crowd.
A glance
That makes breath so loud.

It’s the moon,
On a dark night.
It’s who or what
That brings you to its light.

Love is all the words
Poets have written or said,
It births in the heart
And lives on in the head.