Category: Written in 2016

Old flames

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The past reared up its head tonight;
It ravaged the senses with feeling:
A virulent, corrosive blight
Of pain with no scope of healing.

I wish indifference could be bought,
At a moments notice, to soothe need;
I wish I could cordon off all thought
That reminds me of each bitter deed.

I laid with love and, oh, how I have paid!
The gamut of tears so ready to fall,
There is no hope in a world enslaved
By hope itself – there is none at all.

It feels like rape, violate and complete,
Love thrust through time with smiles and glances,
It reminded me of loss and deceit
And stays now to rob me of peaceful chances.

Do I have something left to give him? I’m loss!
I thought through love, my life would account for much.
But no one can see how I hang on the cross;
There is no god who I can reach out and clutch.

There’s no salvation I can look forward to,
There are no soft arms to bring my body down,
There is but love, who is rocking fro and to,
And I can’t see if he wears a smile or a frown.

He will climb atop my crucified self again,
I’ll writhe and I’ll moan; but it is useless to scream;
What of the assault and what of the burning pain?
This was but the logical end to my own dream.

If only I had loved him instead of you

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

If only I had loved him instead of you:
What all could have been different in me;
I would not have to become someone new,
Every time I hoped you would choose to see
How I looked to gain any affection
From your eyes that never softened on mine,
Or your hands that never sought direction
To touch me and still that moment in time.
If only I could love him. He looks at me
The way a thirsty soul seeks water
And the betrayal of hope that I see
Is of a lamb that knows it’s up for slaughter.
If only your love had been quite like his;
If only I could love him quite like this.

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.