Category: Written in 2026

When They First Come

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

When they first come into your bed,
Your fear is suspended,
By the way they look at you.
Like the flaws you see
Are invisible to them.

They want to touch you;
Feed off you;
Hold you and sway you
To the rhythm of their bodies.
You feel seen.
You make love.

Time changes that –
That look that drifts into routine
Is a result of repetition.
Here, practice makes boredom;
Perfection is boring.

So you once again look in the mirror
And see what you should not have missed,
All this time.
The mirror hasn’t changed.

Zuri After Xena

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I wonder what Zuri must feel,
As she looks at your bed;
Pauses briefly –
Then walks on ahead.

Do dogs sense absence,
Know loss, feel grief?
For sure, when I come home,
She softens in relief.

So does your scent linger,
After a fortnight of loss?
It must…or am I just
Displacing remorse?

She moves more quietly now.
Yet her love is clear:
It doesn’t understand space –
Dead, alive, there, here.

My eyes well up less now,
Though the heart still kneels;
Longing lives on in Zuri;
Through her, my heart feels.

I Was Loved

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Are you in those ashes?
Were you burning in the pyre?
Can water take your essence?
Did your love submit to the fire?

As your body burnt I watched;
I could see the cancer still fight;
But wasn’t it you who stood shaking
And loved and played each night?

Who knew that night in May,
When I opened the door of that crate,
You’d make my family complete
And staunchly become my fate?

Your brother I loved;
I called him my first born son;
But how you took over the house –
How you made us run.

You ran too,
even when your limbs said no –
Your eyes shone bright,
Even when I was letting you go.

My love burnt with you in flames,
As it did with each who died before,
And I don’t know if it’s right to say:
But I will always have room for more.

Most don’t understand
How very large love can truly be:
The more it hurts the more it grows –
It bears outward to infinity.

Thank you, all of my children,
I may have shared a few years with you,
But you taught me about life and death
And to cope with a love so very true.

And though now my heart burns still,
Long after your ashes have grown cold,
And pain is a part of my life’s story
They’ll say I was loved when my tale is told.