Category: Poems

Not Yet

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I shall perhaps forget
Your eyes, your hands, your touch;
I may not remember
These times so very much;

I shall perhaps forget
How you listen as I talk,
The way the your head bends
As we take our midnight walk;

I shall perhaps forget
The things you said at my lips,
Of how your breath lingered,
Or the press of your hips;

I shall perhaps forget
All the strange, hopeful dreams
I saw under the moon,
Born of its silver beams;

I shall perhaps forget
The way you made me laugh,
Of how your eyes twinkled
And broke sadness in half;

I shall perhaps forget
All that was said and done;
As time ticks its stern heart,
They’ll all fade one by one.

For I can’t bear what comes,
If I fail to forget.
There must be a letting go;
But it’s not time, not yet, not yet.

The Singer for the Red King

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

When you listen to a moving love song,
It slashes through our hearts and makes them bleed.
It is clearly what the singer wanted:
She knew how it feels in thought and in deed.

Tomorrows are never applicable
Where all silly little hearts are concerned;
We remember all the pain and sadness,
Who remembers a single lesson learned?

Here we go again sauntering to love,
As if he was not the demonic sire,
Who begat, on hope, all misery
And sits on his throne of red, with his crown of fire.

Take us, take us to the kingdom of thorns,
Where red roses grow on just the outskirt.
We don’t remember the lakes of tears,
Besides the twisted roads of rage and hurt.

The entry is free, unmanned are the gates,
But just then, try and find a way out…
Oh, clever is the king, smelling like faith,
We enter within, but can’t exit out.

The singer knows this to be true of all –
She wants her agenda like the Red King!
We are no match for this team – none at all!
We come full circle while we hear her sing.

Summer Night

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

When you cascade down the mountain of desire,
And you find someone in this fantastic fire,
His eyes shine like molten gold, on fields of green,
And the juiciest nipples you’ve ever seen.

He charms his way, upon horses of lust,
His hair kindles an ache with every thrust,
The arms he draws around, in virtual space,
Take you out from the confines of time and place.
His angst in passion found surfeit in you;
Who bothers then to filter the false from the true?
As the tumult of heat rides the peak of flame,
You climax in throes as he calls out your name.

So you can’t touch his fair hair or steal a kiss,
As he lays spent within his moments of bliss;
But you know he throbbed seeing your form on screen,
That’s enough for now, there is no could have been.

Think only of his brown beard, on lips flushed red,
And know he’ll think of you, tonight, in his bed.