I Guess.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Waiting.

Haunting strains of a maulvi
Chanting from a minaret far;
The sun is about to shear
The silent light of a faraway star.

I wait for morning
And the stroke of destiny,
To see what verdict
It metes out for me.

There is this sullen fear,
Fettered in my veins,
And each stroke of time
Tears at its restrains.

These seconds fall,
One by one,
Those chains break,
One by one.

The one who loves me
Was dealt a severe blow;
But he grins and bears it;
Is it all that I must know?

The night leaps aside
For light to shimmer through,
Somewhere the air
Changes into cool dew;

And I lay silent in bed
But I’m shrinking inside;
And all I want to do
Is turn back the tide.

I guess I’m helpless,
Against the cards of fate;
And, in its matters,
It is not soon or late.

What happens here
Are matters of trial and test;
And whatever it may be,
It will be for the best.

6:00am
5th November.

Times Like These.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

There are times when I think of your eyes
And think of two suns, shining down on me;
When, in my repertoire of feeling, flies
A thought of your smile saving sanity.
There are times when you fill up all space
And all I know is my hope resting in you,
When in my heart you gain the best place,
While everything in my life seems untrue.

There are times when I ache to hear goodbyes
From friendship, honour, (at times, even hope),
Then the present shows me your smile, your eyes
And with thoughts of you my heart learns to cope.
So when life has me on my knees begging please,
I’ll be grateful to have known times like these.

October 28.
5am.

Loveship.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Guarantees I sought and failed to get here,
Love came thrice and made a fool out of me
With its rules. Adhere or not to adhere?
A question which could wreck my sanity.
The wise have written much about one’s friends.
Compared them to lovers and made them win.
No! For one begins where the former ends
And both fill the heart with passionate sin.
So, my heart, where to go? To whom to turn?
There is no point in thought or in tears
Searching will lead but to the path of return
And, oh, the waste of my precious years!
We need both though to breathe and survive here,
So use and abuse and make none too dear.

23 January
3am