Kites.

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

In skies of blue, I spy a speck of gliding brown;
It drops, then turns, the wind holding up its strong wings,
Then drops again to soar high, it moves up, then down,
But ne’er too low to seem a part of earth-bound things.

I gaze at the sight and wonder – that’s all I do –
Just wonder: what would it be like to be that kite?
Alone and high above ground, surrounded by blue,
To move through warm sunlight in an aimless flight?

No place to go, just soar and soar and soar higher,
A vast open with no limits, no goal, no end;
Not bound by chains, just a slave to my own desire,
Not ‘to be’ for a reason, or live to pretend.

4th January
edited 16th February 08

Seize the Dawn.

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

I see with all the windows closed.
I see the outside world alone.
I feel its pain, torment and grief –
Within its arms I, too, do mourn.

The night is dark as is its wont,
The stars are dead behind the mist,
The blooms have withered long ago,
To never ‘gain be seen or kissed.

I see the Girl, I feel her pain –
In hues of blood just like the rose,
That now is burned and turned to ash
And rapes the wind in silent throes.

The moon is black before the sun
Its ring of fire can’t kill the gloom,
Which pervades all on earth and air,
And seals the world for death and doom.

And though I spy no light or laugh,
Scattering this darkness caused by tears,
This scared world and she wait in hope,
To seize the dawn if it appears.

20th July
edited 16th Feb 98

The Same Moon

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The brightest stars twinkle in their places,
In the cloudless, dark blue sky.
On warm earth the flowers lie
With a dewy sprinkle on their faces.
The breeze sifts in a soft lullaby;
A nightingale croons: “Not him, ‘tis I.”

The lover sits beneath a leafy bower
Reviving a memory,
Of what was destined to be.
Remnants of it fall in a wary shower;
Wisps of an immortal mystery,
Of what is to be or not to be.

Always so distant and never too close;
Neither the ground for flight,
Nor the question of might.
Always the sun gave way as she arose;
The same love at her fair sight,
The same moon for us at night.