Category: Poems

Notes

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I have lost the will to rhyme,
I have no hurt left to give;
I have given up on time,
Besides the will to forgive.

The questions don’t linger now,
For I know my self quite well:
It’s seldom I break a vow,
Though I have no soul to sell.

Death does not loom, not for me,
It is a known song I sing,
It’s just that the notes aren’t free,
So I fear some reckoning.

I have lost and I have gained,
Like fat that comes and goes,
Neither state ever remained:
Sunlight into moonlight flows.

My people don’t like me much,
But I hope my furkids do;
Love has yet its own sweet touch;
Thus, I bear when it’s untrue.

I become something older;
Yet I recognise the child;
Temperance makes me colder;
But oh, panic keeps me wild!

your book

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

I was cleaning a drawer
Filled with documents and such.
A book I had stashed away
Peeped out from a corner.

It had your poems and accounts
And an old, faded rose.
I forgot if you or I had saved the bloom,
But your handwriting was enough
To send me into a spiral.

The pages of the book were yellow,
Your words were written in pencil,
Your handwriting curvy
And almost illegible.
It was a struggle;
Then your voice
Shone in the words.

The first paragraph I read
Struck me—like a surprise hug.
It was about a sadness
And a wait—like all of life,
With dried petals caught in between.

You reached out to tell me
The written word means much;
It finds light and memory
Through life’s corners in dirty drawers.

Unmade

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

No matter how hard you want it
And youth makes you believe otherwise,
That people who love you will stay
And not bargain and deal in lies.

The parents, who made you you,
Will want you to be them instead;
Siblings you played with, and cared for,
Will one day wish you dead.

No matter how much you deserve love,
The people you opened yourself to will go;
And whatever you learnt of love and the heart
Will cease to remain just so.

Like the food you love and eat;
But which is excreted in a few hours,
The hope you cling to shall wither
And reach the end of all flowers.

As you age your body will wither,
Your mind will fall numb and your heart will fade,
Youth will come to mock your hunger –
In its laughter, will you be unmade.