Swim

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

It is time to take back myself. It is time that I let go of false notions of what love should be able to do and what it should not be allowed to do. It is time that I paid more attention to things that are in my control. I may not be able to prevent the hurt, but I can make something come of it.

As I said a few hours back, in an argument to make others understand what only I was able to, that feeling something intensely and holding onto pain doesn’t make me a lesser person. It makes me understand myself a bit better. It makes me realise that though I receive nothing essentially uplifting from the pain, the fact that I am still able to feel it is a great feat by itself for itself.

It just means that I am still human and that I can still feel the grief that should have left with the increasing of intelligence and learning. i had long since given up on hope. Fool me. The fact that I can still feel pain would indicate that I can still hope, and I do hope. What else can cause this grief that gnaws at my innards?

It is the breaking of hope that resurrects the self. It makes me realise that all is not lost, my capacity to hope lingers on. I may be a poor student here but my spirit is not dead yet and while it survives it clings to the sweet bliss that hope affords. I look forward with anticipation of a brighter state of mind, an expectation that I will be understood and love can indeed last.

So here is to not truly wanting to understand that the world is lost. That humanity still chooses love over wanting to tear each other down. That video games can be about clothes and not killing and being competitive. That movies can have happy endings, and reflect life. That one can have no father and still be a great father. That one can be abandoned by love and still choose to love.

It is time though to look to myself. To gain perspective while hope has a flux and takes a back seat. To respect reality while romantic thought feels right only in novels and epic poetry. This is after all an ebb and flow, and since I find myself in deep waters, it is time to put my limbs into action and begin to swim toward land.

slammed doors

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

His passing was sudden
Like the slap when I wouldn’t serve him his food.
There was one last surge of emotion,
Due,
As I applied ghee on his face
So the fire would be kind.
I never knew a father;
But my father,
He knew me,
He said,
He knew I was “like that” since I was two.
And that was enough for him to know of me.
The bullying,
The browbeating,
The beating,
The battery of those slammed doors
Hailing his entry or exit
Out of and in to my life.

But for all that he hated me
I hope karma doesn’t exist,
And he doesn’t enter this world
From another door
That bangs open
Like a bomb blast.

Ultimatum

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

You say you’re tired;
But I’ll tell you how tired feels:
It feels like those countless times
Your dad picks on you,
Because you’re gay,
And you dread the sound of him entering a room;
So much so that he makes you afraid of men in general –
To be tired of the fear and the feelings of inadequacy.

You say you’re tired;
But I’ll tell you how tired feels:
It feels like falling in love,
When you realise it wasn’t meant to be just once,
Like all those books say,
It happens over and over again,
With people who cut up your heart;
Because they cannot love it whole.
To be tired of explaining who you are,
To those who want to love you entire
But cannot.

You say you’re tired;
But I’ll tell you how tired feels:
It feels like the pain that rips your inside,
When the children you love are taken
By death – and yet you get another –
For the love you gain
It’s happiness you sacrifice.
To be tired then of death itself;
Because you have met him as a guest
Who is unwelcome but demands attention
And a complete tally of records.

You say you’re tired;
But I’ll tell you how tired feels:
It feels like all those futile times,
When you tried to make yourself more than
A caricature
Of trying to prove your quality.
To be tired of prejudice itself;
Because you realise humanity is bitter
And their contentment lies in the ruin of the other.

You say you’re tired.
But that’s a bit of how my tired feels.