Tag: love

A Love Grown Old.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Seven falls have come and gone.
Life has pressed us paper thin.
The seasons pass and love rusts;
Indifference comes creeping in.

No touches now, no parting glances,
No cards or sentiments on flowers;
No tender private smiles
To ease the pain of the passing hours.

The hours! Oh, the hours
Hasten away and my body grows cold,
While I wonder if this is true
Of a love that seems to grow old.

Grows old with my ageing face,
With those young eyes now morose,
Over a lack of interest,
In a love, in captured repose.

The Heart.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

There is no present future for the heart,
Sadness and love seldom (if ever) part.
Locked in different, tiny chambers lie
Pride, Love, Hope, Anger and Jealousy.

Each cannot hear the others tears
And there is a slow build-up of fears
Blood is the only messenger here,
Which deals with its own diseases drear.

Love wails, Pride stomps its hoof,
Jealousy burns and Anger lashes the roof!
Hope prays and struggles to live
And the hearts lost What to take? What should give?

It has got to breathe. It has got to beat.
Muster some will while giving body heat.
If only you knew, poor, poor, little heart,
When the end and why to even start.

29th January, 2003.

Words on Thought.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

In my heart, there are certain places that are shared by none;
For those are the places restricted to the number one,
Among whom special people share a certain heart-view;
And among this number I count you.

In life, life itself fails to allow words to express each emotion
Every fish can certainly not describe each and every ocean
Aye, at times, a word communicates itself by thought,
In days like these, these are rarely wrought.

The thought to call out lurks all day, then the eye spots an eye,
So this thought suddenly unfurls its wings and begins to fly,
When the eye, done, blinks and rebounds to it, by-and-by,
The thought is consumed by the blue sky.

Words again I use to describe the thought that was forgotten,
Threads of silk I need to use to tie up this wayward cotton,
To let you know, in this place, in my heart, where you reside,
There is but soft simple cotton with no silk beside.