Hair

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia2 Comments

Any chance I get, I run my fingers through your hair.
They are dark, shiny webs of love for me,
Arresting a vibrant magic in their dark lair
That many, if not all, fail to see.

I see you comb them after a shower
And each strand glistens like dew;
I want to put my face in that wet bower
And kiss the cow licks washed anew.

When you rest your head in my lap,
I put the tips of my fingers in the crown,
I am a bee caught in a Venus Trap
And nothing can settle this body down.

I can smell your hair when you’re away,
I can feel it move between my fingers,
The texture and lust with me just stay
As the feel of it on my lips lingers.

Prevail

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I understand what pain brings. It brings hope. Because ironically pain makes me realise I was in pain before. And it ended. It strikes and it is grievous. It struck earlier several times. From its experience I have learnt…

Pain doesn’t last. And after pain comes a resurrection. It brings to light some things that were previously unseen. Bluntly put, it brings a knowledge that nothing lasts. Good times don’t last. Bad times don’t last.

What is more there is the understanding that I shall prevail. If I just pull through the pain I will smile again. Good times will come. The sun will shine out the clearer. The moon will be brighter.

I keep fearing being alone. I keep fearing being abandoned. I keep fearing that the people I love will die or leave. But my fears, though founded in reality, are transitory. I have been alone. I survived. I have been abandoned, I survived. I have lost people I love – and I survived.

So, I know now. I will survive. Nothing is as bad as it seems. And therefore, I won’t just survive. I shall prevail.

Never Again

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia2 Comments

I keep giving of love and remain alone;
Either awake at night or with fears.
I learnt much of pain; it comes now by rote
And has quite lost all its share of tears.

The love I give is all consuming.
It comes from within a unique need.
If I am willing to be consumed myself,
How in hell does it classify as greed?

The words I write now have been written.
The pain I am in has been felt.
It feels like my men are on strange repeat.
The cards each deals have been dealt.

The love I have just needs to be seen;
But those I love choose others over me;
And I can’t keep giving up myself –
I must have an end to hope’s tragedy.

I think of love as forever and it hurts.
Each time it brings with it the freshest pain.
As each time my gifts and heart shatter,
I lie to myself and say never ever again.