Tag: my Poetry

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.

Trojan

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

It’s all a matter of time:
Love evolves into honesty
And the tube light glare
Rips through at some point.
The thing that was once hidden,
Under the guise of empathy,
Lies naked for all to see,

Like a broken body after rape,
Open to the lenses of posterity
And a boggling public
That cranes to see which part
Was most abused.
The need to hide exists no more.
Justice demands sight and hearing.
A lynching is required.

Love is stronger than romance
And it can withstand a slap,
Or two.

Compromise is a grey area.

Love was not the same,
Either for Helen or Mumtaz –
Tom had jumped on a sofa
And after begetting children
Of blood, they say,
It all ended amicably.
I mean, the jumping ended.

I think myself grand enough
To think mine will last.
I shall let the Trojans in though;
Because I love horses.
(That is a different kind of love.)

Why the night is bittersweet.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

There is a reason
Why the night is bittersweet.
For all the company,
Of stars and starlight,
The moon stands alone.

Alone.

If you hearken to night,
And lay your heart,
Before her dark bowers,
You will find
The gossamer quietness
Of other dreams.
You will breathe in clean dark
That harsh sunlight bespoils
And the soothing balm
Of moonlight,
If the moon be awake.
Your heart will find a bed
Of whispering leaves,
And gentle pillows of the world’s sleep.
But you will partake of all this

Alone.

The creatures of the night
Aren’t fit for company.
The owl swoops alone
On its nocturnal flight.
The bat finds his way,
Blind and alone.
Visions cannot be seen,
In the harsh sunlight,
Of company,
Nor can understanding
Sink into the mind,
In a busy embrace;
That is the condition
Of being able to speak
To Night;
She allows the rarest
Of the rare
To lie awake
In her tenebrous
Magnificence –
They deal with knowing –
Make peace with seeing –
By living alone.