Tag: pain

They Warn Me

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

They warn me I speak too much of my heart:
I am too vocal about what I think:
I mention every thought right at its start:
Way before the mind and heart form a link.
They say I am too childlike and confess
All that I know; let my truth rule my voice;
And let my conscience turn its duress,
On certainties, both traumatic and nice.

I know not what power compels me so,
To hone neither tact nor diplomacy;
I love, I laugh, I cry, I feel, I show –
I may do it all quite complacently.
No burden of regret makes me believe;
I go on wearing my heart on my sleeve

The Breath I Breathe

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I am tired of writing about love and being loved,
I have seen it all and yet, I keep trying;
My heart never learned and now neither does the brain –
It is a limitless rigmarole of lying!

Maybe I confuse love with acceptance:
Seeing myself as Perfect, in the eyes of a lover;
But, eventually, I see myself as lacking
Remorse is what I eventually discover.

Ironic sure that the last who loved me
When I was young, now wants someone younger;
Ironic more that he who says loves me now,
Professed cluelessly, quite the same hunger.

Confessions and cheatings have torn my soul apart,
So much so that I have no soul left to bare;
I truly wish I had no use for this miserable heart:
All it has conferred on me is dead-ended despair.

Somewhere delving deeper than heart sinew,
I must have found some self worth, some strength;
But all love does is push it right back in
And holds me up to ridicule and judgement.

Words, when spoken by those I love, shatter
Good, vain preconceptions I have fostered of me;
So I pick and dissect all those that matter
Yet relegate each to just horned-up sexuality.

I really thought I had pushed love out of my system,
Look to the mirror for that is what they all see!
But time makes me commit the same mistake over
And think that love finally wanted the heart in me.

If you want the heart it lies in a body just as mine
And is this not love to love both just the same
My heart has grown older with my body over time
And both still respond to the very same name.

But I am tired of writing about being unloved,
I have seen it all and yet I keep trying,
And I know now that love will not stop
Until the breath I breathe before dying.

Yulin

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

When I see the dogs in Yulin,
Boiled alive, or skinned alive, or beaten to death,
The horror of it brings my lost children to mind.
There are no words to convey
On how I miss their eyes and presence.
Animals by far are the most giving
Of their time and their love.
I ask people who profess love
To show intimacy;
But their time demands more passion
And all my children needed was my time.
Their time alive was encompassed intimacy
And so dreadfully short.
I wonder why cruelty
Becomes a palate for cuisine?
Doesn’t grace justify a quick death?
Why must consciousness be alive,
When it is dunked into boiling water?
What feast can be derived from that?
I have protected dogs. I am a father.
I have nurtured dogs. I am a mother.
I have wept at their death.
I am a parent.
To say that each life is important,
That might is right is important,
That the circle of life is important,
Is true and the world exists.
But the lion doesn’t boil its prey,
The shark doesn’t skin its food.
The law has to abide.
We all must die.
But we pray for a quick death.
A silent death, as part of sleep,
Why then do we, as the sapient ones,
Deny that death in these feasts?
I cannot justify cruelty.
I will condemn torture.
I loved Bonzo, Diana, Rolfe and Zoe:
Lights in my life.
They burned so bright, I was happy blind;
But when one faced torture,
When their need overruled my own,
I bought an end to my blindness.
I was death. I was the dark.
And this is all that I ask for;
It is not in my power
To ask for any more:
Stop cruelty to those who cannot fight back,
Show mercy,
Be no greater than or lesser than
What you are:
Human.