Tag: my poem

That Guy

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

I’m the guy who sees the first star
In the night sky
and thinks of wishes to be made.
I’m the guy who collects each card
That he receives:
Cards carry thought in writing,
colours carry emotion.
I’m the guy who will love a book
As a gift,
But loves the inscription more;
Those few words are the reason
For all the rest of the words
Printed within.
I’m the guy who forgives easy,
Millennia of letting go
Is carried in my unconscious.
I’m the guy who cries
When watching a sad movie –
(Yep, i’m that guy,
So beware.)
I’m also the guy who doesn’t expect less,
Though there is more understanding derived from each facet of new experience.
I’m the guy who doesn’t regret
Much.
I’m the guy who loves easy but long.
Love tends to last
Over money, life and even time.
I’m the guy who recognises,
The inevitability of loss,
Yet chooses to return
To what appears fragile.

I’m the guy who has learnt a lot
But isn’t done with learning.
I’m the guy who wants to give up hope
But isn’t done with yearning.

Little Things

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia2 Comments

It starts small.

Little things you forget to do.

The morning kiss

On the forehead as you leave

Out the door.

The roses

Brought just to say

What words always do.

The lingering stare

Across a friend’s

Birthday dinner.

The time spent

In each other’s company

Because you missed him

After a day of work.

The arm across the shoulder

As you take the pet for a walk.

The questioning

After a troubling statement.

The soft spoken hi

Between naked bodies

In a warm bed.

These are the first to go.

Sacrificed to oblivion

As unconsciously done

As when they first formed.

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.