Summer Night

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

When you cascade down the mountain of desire,
And you find someone in this fantastic fire,
His eyes shine like molten gold, on fields of green,
And the juiciest nipples you’ve ever seen.

He charms his way, upon horses of lust,
His hair kindles an ache with every thrust,
The arms he draws around, in virtual space,
Take you out from the confines of time and place.
His angst in passion found surfeit in you;
Who bothers then to filter the false from the true?
As the tumult of heat rides the peak of flame,
You climax in throes as he calls out your name.

So you can’t touch his fair hair or steal a kiss,
As he lays spent within his moments of bliss;
But you know he throbbed seeing your form on screen,
That’s enough for now, there is no could have been.

Think only of his brown beard, on lips flushed red,
And know he’ll think of you, tonight, in his bed.

Yulin

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

When I see the dogs in Yulin,
Boiled alive, or skinned alive, or beaten to death,
The horror of it brings my lost children to mind.
There are no words to convey
On how I miss their eyes and presence.
Animals by far are the most giving
Of their time and their love.
I ask people who profess love
To show intimacy;
But their time demands more passion
And all my children needed was my time.
Their time alive was encompassed intimacy
And so dreadfully short.
I wonder why cruelty
Becomes a palate for cuisine?
Doesn’t grace justify a quick death?
Why must consciousness be alive,
When it is dunked into boiling water?
What feast can be derived from that?
I have protected dogs. I am a father.
I have nurtured dogs. I am a mother.
I have wept at their death.
I am a parent.
To say that each life is important,
That might is right is important,
That the circle of life is important,
Is true and the world exists.
But the lion doesn’t boil its prey,
The shark doesn’t skin its food.
The law has to abide.
We all must die.
But we pray for a quick death.
A silent death, as part of sleep,
Why then do we, as the sapient ones,
Deny that death in these feasts?
I cannot justify cruelty.
I will condemn torture.
I loved Bonzo, Diana, Rolfe and Zoe:
Lights in my life.
They burned so bright, I was happy blind;
But when one faced torture,
When their need overruled my own,
I bought an end to my blindness.
I was death. I was the dark.
And this is all that I ask for;
It is not in my power
To ask for any more:
Stop cruelty to those who cannot fight back,
Show mercy,
Be no greater than or lesser than
What you are:
Human.

OLD FRIEND

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia3 Comments

I have nothing else to say to you now.
I have nothing more to offer or give.
I have spent my heart, I have kept each vow.
You forget all and I cannot forgive.
The torture of the heart (and there is one)
Is akin to a murder by drowning;
And all that was felt and said and done
Is now a matter for blackened mourning.
Words, like gales, seem to rush past as you leave,
Feelings, however, will not leave with you;
I have lost my faith, I cannot believe,
I cannot discern just which past was true.
And so, old friend, you have prepared me well:
I doubt heaven, I’m undaunted by hell.