Category: Written in 2017

The Circus Clown

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Making the same mistake over again,
Leaves me hardly any room to complain.
Admitted that I have wounds to relieve,
Self worth that never fails to deceive,
A hope that never seems to fall to defeat,
Or opposed needs that could ever meet
The passion, that raises an ironic head,
While intelligence leaves its bed.

I fall for a sweet word mumbled in dry tones,
Via uncaring lips or vacuous telephones;
I fall for a kind look and lovely hair,
I forget the rendering and the despair.

I fall to rise again like a circus clown
I just can’t seem to learn to stay down.
I fall.

It is like a roller coaster ride:
So filled with thrills I cannot deride.

Words are so beautifully spoken
I hear them despite them being broken.
But, though I’m tired of falling, I see it clear:
My fears, though numb, are almost dear,
As if that hope I had, now, has clawed deep
And being awakened shall never sleep.

In mistakes then, it shall seek a solace,
That never stays in one time or one place.
So on I blunder, and get held by warm lies,
And truth shall fail, no matter how it tries
To make sense of the world that is now mine,
That knows joy for rare, brief seconds of time.

The Moon, an Anger and a Sadness

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The Anger suddenly builds!
There’s no way to let it out.
Who would I let it out on:
On Him, on Fact, on Me, on Doubt?

I have spent the Sadness
All that I had to give,
Now I burst with Anger
That doesn’t want to forgive.

The Moon laughs at me,
She who I know so well;
How this story will end,
Even she can foretell.

I turn away from her, too,
She who has been a friend;
She is no longer someone
On whom I can depend.

Like most of the hearts
To whom I gave my love,
She lies far away,
In an unreachable above.

I have nothing to offer,
I have nothing more to say,
When heartbreak comes calling,
I’ll let him have his way.

I had such hopes,
Such hopes had I,
I had tried so hard,
How hard I still try;

But it all comes to nought,
I have no more of me to give,
So all I can do is love,
All I get to do is live.

I am angry for a reason;
But reasons are no excuse;
No one wishes to learn;
Everyone has their own views.

I ramble on and I rant and rave,
I have tried it all, you see;
I am angry now, but in a while,
I’ll bear each end willingly.

To Another Sagittarian

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

What do I say to you that hasn’t been said before?
I no longer know what’s right or wrong, false or true.
I have waited on many a similar door.
And I wait.

There’s not much that I can say or do
That’ll make existential circumstances change,
Or turn the tide back to unravel some design
That helps to alter all that seems so very strange,
In Life that is universally yours and mine.

I had notions once, through my twenties and younger,
When I could not discern what was fact from fiction;
When all I knew of love was yearning and hunger
And I had not a cure for the heart’s affliction.

Experience teaches you as sure as time moves:
That all these doors you come to will be a given
And time itself always stands test and gently proves
Heart breaks cannot be forgotten but forgiven.

So I stand smiling before a door once again,
Just hoping to be allowed in and given rest,
And though I may have to leave, back into the rain,
I leave with memories I can count with my best.