Category: Written in 2007

The Bird and Her Egg.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The drops splash atop sleeping leaves,
Like beats measuring song;
The grey sky its burden relieves
And the rain falls for long.

A bird’s laid an egg in mom’s flowers;
She thinks it’s safe and well;
The poor thing doesn’t know it’s just hours
Before it’s reduced to a shell.

The frightened eyes are red and bright,
Unblinking, full of fear;
But instinctual love gives it might,
It moves not though I’m near.

My dog sees it and pounces fast
I restrain her, the bird flies!
Its own survival wins at last:
Love leaves, life’s lost, hope dies.

The grey sky turns dark as the trees,
The rain drops aren’t as strong,
They splash still atop sleeping leaves,
With beats of a new song.

Staying Awake.

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

My night prepares me for Hope,
Staying awake in silence,
With eyes wide open,
Has made me appreciate the dark.

Loneliness corresponds.

Staying awake prepares me.

Through the past, I built my hope on blue skies and the sun.
In years, I realised the blue could turn grey,
And the sun could burn and set.

The dreams night bestowed
Were invisible by day.

So I am awake,
When the world about me
Blissfully dreams on.

Alone – doing whatever it is I do –
Staying awake at night,
Sleeping through mornings instead.

Quiet night prepares me,
For the rest of life ahead.

5th November 2007.

Prayer.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Námo, I pray, hear what I say,
On grief’s shards, I have tread;
I take thy curse, despair I nurse
In cold, on my stone bed.
The Night keeps falling,
While Woe keeps calling,
And my Heart weeps.
Námo, I pray, hear what I say,
Take my loss, keep it well;
Take my Hope that helped me cope,
As I move towards Hell.
The Night keeps haunting,
While Woe seems daunting,
And my Heart weeps.
Námo, I pray, hear what I say,
Take his breath, keep it warm;
In the pall of night, watch his sleep,
Shelter him through this storm.
The Night keeps its dark,
While Woe keeps its spark,
And my Heart weeps.
Námo, if this thou do, I vow true,
No other complaint shall I know;
The cold, I shall lovingly hold;
Wither thy Will, my Life shall go.
Though the night be deep,
And Woe my smiles reap,
My quiet heart shall keep.

3 dec 07