Author: Harpreet Chhachhia

Just me and nothing else but.

Letter

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You said you would write me a letter;
In mid-fight it made me feel better;
But days have passed; and fights are stalled;
Yet promises of letters have been recalled.
You don’t know why these things matter;
Perhaps because I feel love isn’t mere chatter.
It holds itself to a purpose of truth;
These things are known by even the uncouth.
A love letter must come willing and free;
If it doesn’t, what use could the concept be?
I shall keep quiet and grow quieter still
And of acceptance and honour have my fill.
If I find no words written on pages sought,
I shall gauge at what cost my love was bought.

What Lovers Do

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia7 Comments

You speak a different language.
Your world isn’t anything like mine.
You won’t let your loved ones know me –
And for you, all this works just fine.

You don’t understand my thoughts
And you are new to love’s fights;
You keep silent when you must speak
And you sleep through sleepless nights.

Our decisions made, you forget,
And most promises lie broken, too;
Yet I keep giving love chances
Because that is what lovers do.

My heart has been through hell,
It has been fooled by sharper minds;
Still it harbours love that doesn’t alter
When it alteration finds.

So here it bows again, before a man,
Who has much against his case,
And it stands scared before life,
Because it may again lose the race.

But damn, it hopes beyond hope,
With each rising of the sun,
That it wont be left bereft
By someone called the Kind One.

Ganapati

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