Tag: letting go

Go

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

As I grow older,
The heart grows colder:
The friends from my past
Did not really last.

The flames of youth
Are rendered moot.
Against bitter time,
I do not whine.

If as I grow,
I get to know
Everything dies,
I harbour no lies.

Death chips my heart,
Part by stony part;
And each sharp blow
Teaches to let go.

I have learnt well,
Walking through Hell,
That heaven is the same
With a different name.

And as grief goes,
With each smile,
I must let anger go
In the same style.

The Bitter Watches of the Night

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I know what I have seen,
In the bitter watches of the night;
I know where my hands have been,
As they soothe your body in its fight.

I know what pain you bear,
As the cancer eats away at you;
I know what oath awaits me there —
To relinquish what love must do.

I’ve lost pieces of my heart before —
Five weeks gone, had Death cast his spell;
Yet I must again beg at his door,
Where painless mercy chooses to dwell.

It is for us, I keep you with me still –
Breathing and loving and aching –
But I must, by sheer force of will,
Think on your peace in his taking.

I have loved you and will always,
You’re my curmudgeon, my daughter –
This love is what stays, my child,
Long after you are dust and water.

Thirteen Days

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I rearrange the photos I printed of you, 

Two amongst the flowers, one in a frame.

It has been thirteen days since you passed;

Thirteen days, since I called out your name…

I refill the oil in the diya that burns for you,

The flowers in the vases haven’t quite died;

The loss of you seems to have numbed my heart;

But not enough, since I have unevenly cried. 

I used to call you my first-born son;

For my sons, I tried to be the father I never had;

But for each of you, my love was strangely given –

And I know, I know, at times, I made you very sad.

I’m sorry. But I tried my best. 

I have held you in my arms and I have sung to you; 

You wagged your whippy tail then and were glad:

You were my honey-bunch sugar-plum, my sweetie-pie,

Never doubt, I was very proud to be your dad. 

It’s been thirteen days and I can’t let you go;

Your life and death come to me in flashes –

I yet sing to you and will forever more,

Even after having surrendered your ashes. 

Like all my kids that have passed on by,

You shall be somewhere close, some place near; 

And I’ll always sing a song for you, my son,

Because you were and are so very, very dear.