Tag: Dream

Not Yet

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I shall perhaps forget
Your eyes, your hands, your touch;
I may not remember
These times so very much;

I shall perhaps forget
How you listen as I talk,
The way the your head bends
As we take our midnight walk;

I shall perhaps forget
The things you said at my lips,
Of how your breath lingered,
Or the press of your hips;

I shall perhaps forget
All the strange, hopeful dreams
I saw under the moon,
Born of its silver beams;

I shall perhaps forget
The way you made me laugh,
Of how your eyes twinkled
And broke sadness in half;

I shall perhaps forget
All that was said and done;
As time ticks its stern heart,
They’ll all fade one by one.

For I can’t bear what comes,
If I fail to forget.
There must be a letting go;
But it’s not time, not yet, not yet.

A Wannabe Sonnet

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

Smiles have now replaced tears:

They do not come from joy,

But actualization of fears

In destiny’s employ.

I have no cause to trust anyone:

Not a jot of certainty or strength,

Within this heart or mind run,

Of any scope, or any length.

What certainty in principle I knew

Now bows to lessons from lies,

Love exists like it was never true

Tainted by a myriad sighs.

I wish I can still close my eyes and dream

Instead of smiles that hide the screams.

Expensive Chocolate

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

If I think of all the earlier times,
Of all the dried tears, of all the mixed rhymes,
When I sit and listen quiet to thought,
To all the blissful dreams innocence brought,
The hopes that felt lost somewhere in prayer,
Futures predicted by some soothsayer,
Fathers who seemed to loom so dark and large,
Or those who sold loving words for a charge,
Sailboats guided by dragons in the rain,
Cold nights of love and colder nights of pain,
Ailing mothers who took away sorrow,
Sisters who bravely gave their tomorrow,
Lovers who came, came and crushed all desire,
Feeding worn faith to a funeral pyre,
Grandparents who spoke of idyllic days –
In short, life’s each ephemeral phase.
I remain wide-eyed and alone.
Derelict and silent. A tombstone.
Quietly sipping expensive chocolate,
Thinking about will, wondering about fate.