Tag: mypoem

Never Again

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia2 Comments

I keep giving of love and remain alone;
Either awake at night or with fears.
I learnt much of pain; it comes now by rote
And has quite lost all its share of tears.

The love I give is all consuming.
It comes from within a unique need.
If I am willing to be consumed myself,
How in hell does it classify as greed?

The words I write now have been written.
The pain I am in has been felt.
It feels like my men are on strange repeat.
The cards each deals have been dealt.

The love I have just needs to be seen;
But those I love choose others over me;
And I can’t keep giving up myself –
I must have an end to hope’s tragedy.

I think of love as forever and it hurts.
Each time it brings with it the freshest pain.
As each time my gifts and heart shatter,
I lie to myself and say never ever again.

Your Promises

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

All of your promises have a shelf life.
There is no chance any of them shall stick.
You speak them to merely stop present strife;
Once that is done, their purpose seeks death quick.

Your promises are very lightly made.
You do not think of them as forever.
They are fake light that only causes shade,
Without the wherewithal to endeavour.

I wish you understood what vows must be;
They are the parents of hope and trust;
Your mind can’t grasp what it cannot see;
And all we end up with is useless dust.

I know this now and all my hope lies dead;
There is nothing now to be heard or said.

Letter

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

You said you would write me a letter;
In mid-fight it made me feel better;
But days have passed; and fights are stalled;
Yet promises of letters have been recalled.
You don’t know why these things matter;
Perhaps because I feel love isn’t mere chatter.
It holds itself to a purpose of truth;
These things are known by even the uncouth.
A love letter must come willing and free;
If it doesn’t, what use could the concept be?
I shall keep quiet and grow quieter still
And of acceptance and honour have my fill.
If I find no words written on pages sought,
I shall gauge at what cost my love was bought.