A Love Grown Old.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Seven falls have come and gone.
Life has pressed us paper thin.
The seasons pass and love rusts;
Indifference comes creeping in.

No touches now, no parting glances,
No cards or sentiments on flowers;
No tender private smiles
To ease the pain of the passing hours.

The hours! Oh, the hours
Hasten away and my body grows cold,
While I wonder if this is true
Of a love that seems to grow old.

Grows old with my ageing face,
With those young eyes now morose,
Over a lack of interest,
In a love, in captured repose.

The Heart.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

There is no present future for the heart,
Sadness and love seldom (if ever) part.
Locked in different, tiny chambers lie
Pride, Love, Hope, Anger and Jealousy.

Each cannot hear the others tears
And there is a slow build-up of fears
Blood is the only messenger here,
Which deals with its own diseases drear.

Love wails, Pride stomps its hoof,
Jealousy burns and Anger lashes the roof!
Hope prays and struggles to live
And the hearts lost What to take? What should give?

It has got to breathe. It has got to beat.
Muster some will while giving body heat.
If only you knew, poor, poor, little heart,
When the end and why to even start.

29th January, 2003.

To Yani.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Travelling down a winding, swerving road,
With Eucalyptus trees on either side,
Just greeted by rain with freshness bestowed
With the morn smiling as a blushing bride,
Moving toward a little hall of fame:
Our quest amidst this Natures beauty,
Making it through to make this claim,
Dissecting friendship from explicit duty.
I have known friends throughout my normal life;
I have been torn apart by some, who
Made the needed choices of daughter, wife,
But, here, on this road, I fondly think of you.
Knowing simply the journey was worthwhile,
Due to the company of your quiet smile.

15th June 2003.
Betul.