Cling

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

As time passes and love grows older, our vision expands. It’s like taking a step back and not seeing just the eyes but the whole face. The kiss is done and you see his nose, his lips, his throat. You see the pulse beating there. There is another person in front of you.

You realise you are clingy. You want to be kissed often. You want to be annoyed with a constant barrage of cuddles. You wish for the hands to keep holding yours.

But you look downward and see that the hands that were holding yours are now busy on the phone. The eyes are forming texts. The mind is elsewhere. Differences in religion revolve around your atmosphere. Family matters rise to the surface. The kisses are temporarily forgotten. The life you have lived comes back in heavy memory.

You see the meme in your own phone and you wonder. If you forward it to him will he come close to you again? Will your vision only have his eyes in it again? Will you stop seeing all of his pulsations? Will he be content in your eyes too? How long will the language spoken by the eyes keep you both content?

I have no answers. So I search for a meme.

A Year of a Dog’s Love

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

Time twists and slithers,
Like a snake dipped in oil.
There’s nothing it can’t create.
There’s nothing it can’t foil.

Religions build up in time;
Time makes them obsolete.
Time makes mountains crumble;
Quells the Herculean feat.

And in time, all can see
Love becoming hard and cold;
Even if it brings forgiveness
Back to a weakening hold.

Bear down, beef up, rally on!
Only death in time will tell,
If my love for an animal
Will lead you to your hell.

The Snorers

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia2 Comments

When you lie alone,
In some future bed,
You perhaps may understand a quarter
Of what lies in my heart,
And perhaps a percent
Of what goes on in my head.

But I hope not.

Because by then I may not
Be alive – or with you –
Perhaps by then I’d have understood
What I have been trying to.

I’ve tried to gain a touch,
That I have not asked or desired,
Of your own volition,
Even if it’s just because you’re tired.

Rest your hand on my cheek,
Or put your fingers in my shirt,
I’ve not asked for much,
Just a touch, to heal a hurt.

I understand.

You’re not wired that way;
Intimacy isn’t your go-to;
There’s nothing one can say
To make things happen.
You’re built of different clay.

But if and when I give up,
And you’ll find me adrift and casual,
You’ll perhaps miss who I was –
What I was was unusual.

Perhaps I’ll learn to be you;
Perhaps your withholding is strength;
Perhaps I’ll learn the life you had
Was the love you meant.

Perhaps.

What I had to teach
Couldn’t ever be learnt;
And I’d heal and harden,
After touch is lost and hope is burnt.

One night as you turn in bed
And open your eyes with a start,
Like humans do after a broken snore,
You may find me gone –

Or perhaps asleep in the distance…
Perhaps then you’ll see a hard heart
In a room with a locked door,
Cut off, forever and ever more.