Tag: my Poetry

The Fan’s Woe

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The night has lain down, once more, on my tiny bed;
The silence is broken, by a fan overhead;
Darkness is lit, by flutterings of windowed light;
Images from the day still burn into my sight.
Your hands on my body still leave tendrils of fire;
Yet it was never just a matter of desire –
There was that bittersweet yearning I thought had gone:
Something that had no hope of being reborn.
I surmised wisdom made sure it was left behind –
A few lessons, growing older had taught the mind;
But here it lies, near night, yearning for touch again;
No matter that it comes with the sure price of pain.

The fan creaks, speaking, it tells me, it knows it all,
It has been technical witness to each shortfall.
It blusters the air doing its job as always,
It has seen all that leaves and felt who stays.
So now it addresses me, like a parent dear,
While the darkness addresses all of my fear.
There is not very much to say or do but write;
Maybe this is how I regain clarity of sight.
My eyes droop and I think of his bright, tawny stare,
His head bent over my body, his tousled hair,
My fingers in it, as he tastes a part of me,
Which has been savoured by, oh, so many,
And, I must say, if pain is the sole attraction,
This just goes to speak of my sad heart’s detraction,
And Loneliness that never, truly, left my bed,
Unless you include the groaning fan overhead.

The Circus Clown

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Making the same mistake over again,
Leaves me hardly any room to complain.
Admitted that I have wounds to relieve,
Self worth that never fails to deceive,
A hope that never seems to fall to defeat,
Or opposed needs that could ever meet
The passion, that raises an ironic head,
While intelligence leaves its bed.

I fall for a sweet word mumbled in dry tones,
Via uncaring lips or vacuous telephones;
I fall for a kind look and lovely hair,
I forget the rendering and the despair.

I fall to rise again like a circus clown
I just can’t seem to learn to stay down.
I fall.

It is like a roller coaster ride:
So filled with thrills I cannot deride.

Words are so beautifully spoken
I hear them despite them being broken.
But, though I’m tired of falling, I see it clear:
My fears, though numb, are almost dear,
As if that hope I had, now, has clawed deep
And being awakened shall never sleep.

In mistakes then, it shall seek a solace,
That never stays in one time or one place.
So on I blunder, and get held by warm lies,
And truth shall fail, no matter how it tries
To make sense of the world that is now mine,
That knows joy for rare, brief seconds of time.

The Moon, an Anger and a Sadness

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The Anger suddenly builds!
There’s no way to let it out.
Who would I let it out on:
On Him, on Fact, on Me, on Doubt?

I have spent the Sadness
All that I had to give,
Now I burst with Anger
That doesn’t want to forgive.

The Moon laughs at me,
She who I know so well;
How this story will end,
Even she can foretell.

I turn away from her, too,
She who has been a friend;
She is no longer someone
On whom I can depend.

Like most of the hearts
To whom I gave my love,
She lies far away,
In an unreachable above.

I have nothing to offer,
I have nothing more to say,
When heartbreak comes calling,
I’ll let him have his way.

I had such hopes,
Such hopes had I,
I had tried so hard,
How hard I still try;

But it all comes to nought,
I have no more of me to give,
So all I can do is love,
All I get to do is live.

I am angry for a reason;
But reasons are no excuse;
No one wishes to learn;
Everyone has their own views.

I ramble on and I rant and rave,
I have tried it all, you see;
I am angry now, but in a while,
I’ll bear each end willingly.