Tag: God

Vortex

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

As I look into the world today,
I see a dark vortex,
Revolving around words,
Created by those
Who say they understand god.

I see this whirlpool,
Filtering through time
And wars and blood and despair.
It darkens, as it weaves
A symbiotic relationship,
Between the follower
And the leader
And the one with hope.

A hope for a better future,
Probable and passionate,
For the existential quest
To find the meaning to life.

Though the dreamers say,
Love should be the answer,
It becomes too simple,
Even for the simplest person
To understand and partake.

So the vortex eddies
And, maybe this time,
It shall consume the world.

Or maybe, not.

For there will always be some
Who will hope,
And can love.

Each Drop (Part Two)

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I have lived, years without you now;
Water and wind, move fast, move past;
Everything is mutable here,
Abstract or concrete, nothing lasts.

The monsoon winds are strong
And I remember you wet in rain.
You left – them, long ago;
But here they are wetting everything again.

I’m lying in bed,
Thousands of minutes away,
And remaining here,
Think of the gods who cast me away.

I heard a song, that reminded me
Of the way you turned to look at me,
And I cried a bit – maybe more –
Remembering all we used to be.

Now, my darling, I’m not afraid.
There is no fear of living or dying;
Because it’s just a road, taking me
To the place, where you’ll be lying

In wait, with all the rest who went before
To become the value of this life –
Who will profess how well I lived
And vouch for each drop of love and strife.

That’s what it all comes down to:
This journey traversing me and you:
A meeting, a distance and a gate
And all that’s eventually true.

If not, I have, yet, nothing to fear:
There won’t be a calling back…
I’ll give voice to wind and heart to water,
And fade upon the stars dressed in black.

Faith

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Faith moves mountains,
They say.

Faith moved me
To be a disbeliever.

Don’t get me wrong.
I wish I could kneel
And look up and say,
I know you have my back;
I could say,
Oh, you know best;
There will be something better,
That there is
A larger plan.

But my children died.
And all I asked was for less suffering.
A little lesser than the last.
Until with the last there was nothing left.

I asked when I believed.
Now I know the blankness.
And the silence.

I’ve seen religion and ritual
Twist me into softness:
Into believing there is law,
There will be justice.
But
There isn’t.
There is silence and sacrifice.

So I choose to turn away
From a fait accompli.

I’m uncertain.
That makes me stronger.
Less kinder.
But if I have given up on
Divinity
Being kind is an anticlimax.