Tag: pain

Reeling

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Most nights I find myself wide awake!
There is this end of a world feeling
That takes over sleep and suffocates rest
And sends my mind reeling!

Thoughts and memories of what we were:
A tantrum thrown; a mock wrestling match;
A joke on shorts; a song we called our own;
A kissed bandaid put on a scratch.

I become Taylor Swift, who narrated
Personal loss, pain and bullet holes;
Or Adele’s soul, in royal Albert Hall,
Proclaiming love’s future goals.

When night passes and morning comes to spite –
I quietly shut the windows on its face…
I switch on some numbing porn, or maybe
Write a poem – to fill the sleepless space.

These lonely nights make me think and yearn
Of how he (probably?) is fast asleep,
While time holds me in such a fucked-up flux,
Wherein I can’t feel, much less laugh or weep.

Love

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

When you tore through my clothes
And took my body in you,
That wasn’t the time love came –
For me, love-making wasn’t new.

Love snuck in with stories
And acceptance and giving;
Grew with knowledge and hope;
And fights, that bring forgiving.

I can live through it all,
Love does not alter for me,
Though it brightens the world,
Or can shatter this galaxy.

If I see you again,
It will flare up, it isn’t proud,
It doesn’t die or unlearn,
For all who love me warn loud.

So I’ll entreat the sky,
And write it all down in verse,
I’ll beg time to be kind –
Maybe make karma reverse.

Okay

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

Everyday people ask
“How are you?”
And I say,
“I am okay.”
I mention my body.
No broken bones.
No Covid-19.
No cancer.
Intact.

The inside of my heart though,
I wonder if I can talk about it.
Myocardium.
It’s said to be the thickest.
It has to be.
It houses abstractions.
Raw, mind-numbing wounds:
The fear of a future.
The betrayal of promises.
The neglect of hope.
The presence of love.
The sounds of monsoon birds
Silenced by “it’s not you, it’s me”.
Sensitive, burning, bloody
Awe
Of those who move on.

That part –
That part is not okay.
Every breath serrates it.
Like ice on a chipped tooth.
Like wires under nails.

But I can’t say this.
So, everyday,
I say, I am okay.