love – Page 76 – Hearts Still Care

It Knows.

Published on February 6, 2008June 26, 2011 by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I heard something – probably my heart again.
For a thing that is busy all the time
Fostering emotions and fighting pain
It sure has the time to think about mine.

I hear it all the time – like its beating,
I feel that all the time. So I wait,
Place my hand over it and think of cheating
By saying, “Not faith, I tell you, it’s fate!”

No, it can’t be hoodwinked. It doesn’t slow.
And I sigh. It is faith. I know it . . . do I?
My mind smiles – just to show
That nothing is mine – not even that sigh.

My heart beats faster. I remove my hand.
I look at the carnations – red.
They are all around me. One fact I understand.
After a matter of hours they will be dead.

Their fate?
My heart slows.
“And yours,” says my mind,
“It knows.”

An Idea of Love.

Published on February 6, 2008June 26, 2011 by Harpreet Chhachhia3 Comments

I thought Love would be all the things the Poets said:
Sunlight on the Face, red roses on the Bed.
It came in with Grandeur accompanied by Hope
Who my last love left behind, after he eloped.
After him, it seemed sane to give up and turn away,
But Love always seems to come with the intention to stay . . .

[Or so I thought in the vaguest of fantasies –
Dreaming of a Love carved with brilliant fancies]:

He would do this and He would be that;
He would say this and He would feel that;
He would cherish and care a hell of a lot;
He would protect and – you know, all that rot.

He came and He loved in a manner not Mine
And I have grown enough to give up on Time.
I love him, too,
But one thing is true:
The Love is never your Love,
When it happens for you.

30th July.

Oh, Stranger-Like-Me.

Published on February 6, 2008June 26, 2011 by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

I wonder many times, oh-stranger-like-me,
Of how it would be
If you perhaps come across these lines
And smile (or perhaps shed a tear) and think
This heart’s so much like me.
If I would write of how love passed me by –
And you would not question why
I was thinking of throwing myself to the ground
From the terrace of a building.
If I would mention how love returns –
And yet incessantly burns,
With a sharpness and sting
That makes all wonder on the need of this thing.
Would you, stranger-like-me, think of this?
Have you hoped for immortal bliss
And settled for earthly disillusionment?
A neglectful youth arising from abuse –
Of what I have gained and what I shall lose?
Do you – would you – have any reckoning?
I have loved again and now I find
That love alone can torture the mind;
By the lack of words or a stronger voice,
Have you ever had the pressure of choice?
Have you ever thought he never wrote back?
What didn’t I give? What did I lack?
Now, I have loved again. Do you think:
What if it all passes again in vain…?
Then did you scowl and write
In your way of scribbling down black on white,
That being held by some one once again
Is worth so much of all this pain?
If you do feel even the slightest bit
Of the emotions my heart knits…
Know also, stranger-like-me,
I write for eternity.