Tag: love

Love’s Complexity.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment
As a child, I felt crestfallen seeing
A film on a lioness a woman tames;
It needed a graver understanding
Of how love chooses to play its mean games.
Today I saw a similar story:
How a boy watches, broken-heartedly,
His pet, in whom he fostered love’s glory,
For its own safety, swimming back to sea.
It is thus I guess that it is to be:
Despite the pain and to its core be true,
There comes a time to just stand back and see
If pulling back gets me closer to you.
Love surely has its own complexity:
To get it all, one has to set it free.

The Bird and Her Egg.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The drops splash atop sleeping leaves,
Like beats measuring song;
The grey sky its burden relieves
And the rain falls for long.

A bird’s laid an egg in mom’s flowers;
She thinks it’s safe and well;
The poor thing doesn’t know it’s just hours
Before it’s reduced to a shell.

The frightened eyes are red and bright,
Unblinking, full of fear;
But instinctual love gives it might,
It moves not though I’m near.

My dog sees it and pounces fast
I restrain her, the bird flies!
Its own survival wins at last:
Love leaves, life’s lost, hope dies.

The grey sky turns dark as the trees,
The rain drops aren’t as strong,
They splash still atop sleeping leaves,
With beats of a new song.

Like the Sweetness of Wine.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The life I lead is not the one I had;
I have no cause to call either one bad.
I think of years long gone, and feel the tears,
Which bear the pain that never disappears.
I then berate myself for thinking so;
For all those years have left as these shall go;
And as I watch the gentle fall of rain
Recalling times of joy, remembering pain –
I note that what had brought the joy and pain
Is long gone to never be seen again.
And then, I pause. Why weep? Oh, foolish me!
In pining for what was, I failed to see
That as those times are dead, so shall these go;
What rises high now may then crumble low,
And years from here shall I covet today,
For I do tend to think of yesterday.
The present makes its way into the past,
And often moulds the first to bring it last,
And since the old is sweeter than the new,
We see the rainbow but later its hue.
The life I lead is not the one I had,
It has to age enough to make me sad.

20th July