Category: Written in 2012

Silence

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I screamed and I screamed

And all you heard in the shouts

Was a vain silence

Wraith

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

This year came unto me like a Wraith;
Bearing away my hope in surreal faith;
It unfolded its stygian wings
And spewed forth such ghastly things:
Cancers of different kinds,
Affecting the body, the heart, the mind,
Gods disappeared with flute and tusk,
The sun merely gazed from the gathering dusk.
Fight against the dying light, Thomas said;
But Plath was also a poet to be read.
I tried to run to the sun, catch his light,
His failure proved to be the worst of the blight,
He could do naught but be what he is
And change not a jot of how he lives.
So as the day died, he left me to night
I stopped screaming. I surrendered the fight.
Doing this brought me some clarity:
The utter darkness of wing made me see,
This wraith of Time is my constant friend,
Who doesn’t give hope, who doesn’t pretend,
Who promises not even pain to rend
Some new beginning from an old end.

Unhappy

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

There is this part of me,

A responsibility,

I feel it every day,

Scraping my insides,

I have reasoned with it,

Telling it to grow up,

Be strong and face life

And its reality.

I have bargained with it,

Giving it compassion,

Clothes and food,

Even a daily hug;

But it wants more.

I cannot give this thing

A loving glance,

It has remained the same,

I’ve outgrown this dance.

It asks me at daybreak,

If I still feel passion;

But time has changed me,

In every physical fashion.

It seeks to feel what I gave,

A long time ago,

I choose to bestow a hug

And nothing more.

It asks me at noon,

If I remember it at work,

And I want to yell

“How can I forget your fucking nails?”

It asks me at twilight,

If the sun is as gold

As the time we danced,

I look at the gold and think

How many more years

Before it burns out.

Perhaps if I ignore the thing,

Its own need will eat it alive.

I’ll prevent a rescue,

Even if it is from me –

Perhaps sadness will do the deed

For it can never be happy.