Tag: love

The Anchor

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia2 Comments

I have always searched for roots.
Being adrift in space
Is never what I wanted.
I wanted a quaint place

I could call home; my solace
Where I could be just me,
With hot chocolate and books
And love for company.

I have sought for strong anchors
To stop my wayward drift;
Something heavy that no storm
Could possibly lift.

I found them in what I read,
In what I loved and knew,
In what I wrote and learned,
In what I danced and drew.

I became an anchor then;
Roots was what I became;
I dug into the sea bed,
Made a tree of my name.

If you choose to see this,
As being stuck for all time,
I must set you to sea,
Your fruit was never mine.

Perhaps out in the ocean,
Drifting in colder air,
I dare say, you’ll find your peace,
Devoid of me and care.

Perhaps out in the free air,
Like pollen with no aim,
You will just be –
No flower must you tame.

I stay here anchored fast,
Rooted to my haloed ground,
I shall read and drink and love,
No complaint shall resound,

From cold ocean and warm earth,
I look upward to sky:
I am here. Here I live,
Here I love. Here I die.

They Sometimes Say

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

When I love they, sometimes, say i love right,
Then, behind doors, they also softly, say,
That within the darkest caverns of night,
I love differently than in the day.

They speak of the numerous things I do:
Of the friends I seem, somehow, to acquire,
The way I dress up and how I walk, too,
Of how I’m a saint and how a liar.

I must have some guile to steal affection,
For clearly, I can’t earn it on my own,
Love I gain from filial connection,
Luckily, all by God and chance was thrown.

The moon has secrets to give me, for sure,
That’s how we witches are known to survive;
I am nothing but a dangerous lure,
Like handsome bears being drawn to a hive.

I have warped morality and no code,
For all see the beauteous life I live,
With wondrous occasions on me bestowed
And ingratitude is what they see me give.

So rumour has it that I am well off.
Nothing could I possibly need more.
Well-spoken, well-mannered and well thought of,
A never-ageing, immaculate whore.

Fading and Forgetting

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Love is love; but love isn’t enough, is it?
A bullet is the unlikeliest end;
But that can happen sudden; even worse,
Love can very subtly fade out or pretend

To be just nestling there when it is not.
The complexities lessen and pass on
To other more trivial things like bills
And other matters mundane and forlorn.

It is a matter for weeping truly;
Where did all of the good get up and go?
Where is the happily ever after?
Oh, How very much I would like to know!

Was it cast out to make way for life’s woe?
Have younger bodies teased a lost passion?
Was that all love had to be, do and say
In a somewhat daintier fashion?

Love is love, I reckon; but I can tell:
It permeates like frost on life’s window,
And what I could see from it, like before,
May be there still; but I cannot be sure.

If bullets strike my heart I could recall,
In the throes of pain, of what used to be;
And, despite the frost forming on the panes,
I may look beyond and think I truly see.

Perhaps the fading and the forgetting
Are needed to create the shielding frost;
There may not be a need to remember,
For what’s here is clear and was never lost.