You Came Into My Life

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

You came into my life,
When I had recovered from love.
I got to know my life again.

I had picked up my trampled heart
And kept it locked away
Within toughened sinew
Then
You came into my life.

When I first saw you
I marvelled on your smile.
But you walked over mine with hob-nail boots
And looked over my hand of friendship.

Destiny proved stronger.
Though my smile was not for you –
My heart had a mind of its own.
(Its spirit survived.)

so I walked into your life.
Took no great notice of your past.
Took you into my heart.
Took you into my home.
Took you to be my partner, lover and love.

Destiny had its say again,
Our hearts were pushed and torn,
Mine tried its best to cling onto yours,
Yours did the same.
Hope survives.
Love carries on.
Life lives upto its name.

You walked into my life.
Your name is now linked to mine.
I try my best to keep my faith in love
And leave the rest to you, your heart and time.

Butterfly

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Red and blue and green and yellow,
Maroon, orange and white,
From the dullest shade possible
To that startlingly bright.

The flowers, sitting one on one,
Nodding, kissing, calling;
My wings, beating one on one,
Being kissed, often stalling.

I sip sweetness from coloured lips,
I am brighter than all,
My hues are such, that e’en Beauty
Is held in wondrous appal.

But I have so short a lifetime,
And the one I desire
Has to journey to garden,
All fenced within a barbed wire.

“Let him go, set him free,” the rose
Cries in its redness to me.
“If he returns,” adds the sweet pea,
“It was all meant to be.”

My wings lower to hold the sun,
As I sit, think and tear –
While Hope battles with Fear –
Wonder if God will be the one,
In loss, to keep me near.

“Ere he dies, let him go and live,”
The sun says in his life.
I think (again): “So, he lives not
When he stays in my sight.”

Four days I spend of my week’s life –
To think. Then, “Go,” I say,
And he’s gone – not a backward glance –
The wind eats up his way.

Three more days to all –
All that I have to do;
God is near and he says, “Choose: wait,
“Or start your life anew.”

Two more days and he is not back,
“Wait,” rose, sun, sweet pea cry,
But I, too, have my dream; I, too,
Have to live ere I die.

Others flap their glorious wings,
All around, about me,
And I know, I’ve no time to see,
If ‘twas all meant to be.

Red and blue and green and yellow,
Maroon, orange and white,
From the dullest shade possible
To that startlingly bright.

The flowers, sitting one on one,
Nodding, kissing, calling;
Then those petals fly in the wind,
Falling, falling, falling.

To a Knight

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Dimples on an Officer –
Incongruous on someone trained to kill.
But the combination got me going;
And though it was against my will,
I got to know them better.
Both the dimples were two sides of a scale;
And as my prejudice’s wont,
I’ve gathered that to be the end of this tale!
I even cried a bit.
For two reasons (that I shall mention here):
One: he disdained to accept our friendship
In public because of his own societal fear;
Two: he reached out to a part of me I thought had died
And which was once something very dear.

I usually write in verse,
When I feel greatly;
And as you can see,
It’s the tears I seem to cherish and nurse.
There is no explanation why
Someone touches someone’s history;
In most cases, with repression,
It all seems to end up a mystery.
Not with me.
I know the romantic in me, who I strangled,
Came back to haunt me last night;
And, as I looked on, he successfully wrangled
Old wasted emotions and new pent-up fears:
Abandoned chances of being carried off by some knight;
Appalling certainties of old age and lonely tears.

28th February
5:45pm