Tag: Loss

Sleep

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia2 Comments

Sleep has left the building.
She has to be coerced with a pill.
She has no claims to fantasy.
She requires no story.

Give her a story
And she will stay away pursuing it.
She’s best left storyless
And thus, barren.
A pill is her fee.
She comes – carelessly –
And then has a brood of dreams.

Dreams I would rather not have;
Because they remind me of loss
And pain –
And people who won’t love me again.

Sleep smiles. I forced her with a pill.
So I am punished.
Her brood wakes me up
And the moment, I open my eyes,
She is once again set free.

Bier

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Strange how lifting
A body in death,
Though wrecks my back,
Still leaves me with breath;

But stifling
a heart break
Stops all air
my lungs make.

Grief

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

It keeps threatening to consume me whole:

This dark night of my questionable soul.

Death, separation and heartbreak,

I dread to think of what else they take.

For now as the summer sun grows hot

And the very earth condemns our lot,

The fates conspire and repel all desire.

Mourning comes in the building of a pyre,

With rules and laws, medicines and food,

What should I beg for and to what good?

I cannot blame an evil eye, or sin,

For all this breaking and screaming within.

It seems hopeful to call it the forge of life

And believe in higher metaphors of strife.

I’d rather know less of grief than I must;

I’d rather seek anything else to trust.