Suicide

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia7 Comments

I wish I had the courage
To take a blade to my veins –
And after this body dies,
See what really remains.

I can’t for the life of me
Think of ending it all,
Though I gave up on God
And fear no Great Fall.

If science has me as dust
And conscious free, let it be.
If I face a god, I’ll also see
Those gone once who truly loved me.

But the world has knifed me,
With love and belonging,
Yet it denied me faith
And ripped me with longing.

I guess, if death is to be,
It’ll eventually be.
I fear to make it a slave
To my sickly vanity.

So, though the fan and blade,
Terrace and sill tempt me well,
I choose to linger here and on,
Through life’s own heaven and hell.

Do Not Touch Me

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia2 Comments

Don’t touch me,
If you do not want to.
I am more than
My love for you.
It may be full,
It can be blind,
It is what elsewhere
You will never find!

I am beautiful
And I am kind;
I have a heart;
I have a mind;
I am my body
And though it wants you –
Do not touch me,
If you do not want to.

The Coming

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia2 Comments

Insecurity is not at all flattering:
It reeks of imagined loss and current fear;
The former hasn’t happened quite yet;
The latter forgets all who hold you dear.

The night brings it back,
When lovers snore and sleep;
And all you do is gaze into the dark,
Wondering if it’s truly that deep.

Anxiety may follow suit and soon –
But –

You ejaculate in your hand!

A calm replaces the tumult
And fear is no longer that grand.

Loss still remains. So you bear it;
You recall you have borne it before!
You understand you can and will bear it,
Even if life makes it erupt once more.