Tag: my Poetry

To Bonzo

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

The words I write now may not seem so true,
And neither shall I plead forgiveness, dear,
For all I said and did just to hurt you.
For who shall see my grief, or the lone tear
That falls upon your grave besides the sea;
To whom shall I turn now? Who is all mine?
Sweet death, which lifts your soul to be set free?
Or Life, which is mortal, thus not divine?
I hearken! Yet I know, ‘tis but in sleep
I feel he sound your heart beats on mine own;
But when I see the dawn, I cease to weep
And thoughts of loss I can’t help but disown.
For when I weigh the smiles against the frowns,
My lone tear ‘mid the sea rapidly drowns.

2nd August

“If your eyes be mine, then let me be blind”

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

If your eyes be mine, then let me be blind;
If your voice does belong to me, strike me dumb;
If your fingers my thoughts expression find,
Then I have no need at all for either thumb.
If your garb befit my limb, they are my guise;
If your beauty is naught, then have I ill-complexion;
If against your desires, let them all be vice;
If you are my Muse, you are its only reflection.

If you be the trill, I’m the nightingale;
If you be the wind, then I am just the spark;
If you are the laugh, I must be the wail,
Then because of your light I need be the dark.
Where am I, you shall forever exist;
For, for the one’s lack, either shall desist.

25th July.

Hope.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The beclouded moon, humming a mournful tune,
In a panel of grey,
Crisp leaves abed, on a ground that’s dead,
Pave a solitary way.

A harp that’s silent, in a world that is violent,
Speaks of life today;
A listless expression, on a face in depression,
A humourless sway.

Beauteous Nature barred, from lives that are charred,
Of their very substances;
People do seek compassion, in the guise of passion,
Betraying all nuances.

They welcome greed and nothing’s left to feed,
Their hungering souls;
Rising out of wombs, they are ghosts from tombs,
Just wandering fools.

Trying to find peace, in this worldly alcove,
Is not an easy task;
Trying to evade all, as hearts start to fade,
Behind the darkest mask.

Entrapped within lures, that have no known cures,
That have no escape;
You hope to find a heart that won’t ever depart,
Leaving your body agape.

9th June.