Fucked Up Stillness

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The cacophony of the soul

Is like a coin in an empty tin can,

Rattling away at the insides

Whenever shaken.

To stop this erroneous shaking,

One must be still.

Fuck up.

Being still doesn’t work with the soul,

As countless wise men have alluded.

I am guessing

Their souls had already transmigrated

Into another box.

So they could sit under trees

And smile and talk to us about their stillness.

For Karandeep

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I write poems for what lies close to my heart:

Sometimes when I’m happy, sometimes when sad,

Sometimes because loved ones have to depart

And good times are no longer to be had.

But time has its idiosyncrasies

And our past merges with the future,

Maybe fleeting moments will make us see

This leave-taking a fresh meeting nurtures.

There are many things left to do, feel, see;

But Time, it seems, has run so very short,

So I wish you many good things to be,

Many people who should love you a lot.

In time, as you look back at times we had,

Seek the Evening Star and be glad.

Why Would I Again Choose?

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Why would I again choose?

Why indeed but to lose

All of those simple things,

Like love’s mean fairy rings?

 

The sun set a while ago,

Time dispels her quiet woe,

The stars are veiled tonight,

They can’t cast their soothing light;

 

The moon is guarded too,

Tonight she begins anew,

A new tale, a new spin,

Where again I won’t win.

 

All I sought in all this black

Was for love to love me back,

Since it can’t the way I choose,

I’ll just get ready to lose.