Past

Published on July 9, 2020July 9, 2020 by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The past has smiles
And we remember those;
It also holds tears
That it does not disclose;

Or maybe we see
What we want to see;
And think of the sadness
As probability.

If recalled joy mixed
With sadness and pain,
Then we would look on
The past with a new refrain:

We like to think of it
As lovely, and yet, gone;
And that’s what makes
All of the present forlorn.

Tear off the rose glasses
And see all of it true,
Then maybe the past
Can let the future renew.

They Sometimes Say

Published on June 17, 2016June 17, 2016 by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

When I love they, sometimes, say i love right,
Then, behind doors, they also softly, say,
That within the darkest caverns of night,
I love differently than in the day.

They speak of the numerous things I do:
Of the friends I seem, somehow, to acquire,
The way I dress up and how I walk, too,
Of how I’m a saint and how a liar.

I must have some guile to steal affection,
For clearly, I can’t earn it on my own,
Love I gain from filial connection,
Luckily, all by God and chance was thrown.

The moon has secrets to give me, for sure,
That’s how we witches are known to survive;
I am nothing but a dangerous lure,
Like handsome bears being drawn to a hive.

I have warped morality and no code,
For all see the beauteous life I live,
With wondrous occasions on me bestowed
And ingratitude is what they see me give.

So rumour has it that I am well off.
Nothing could I possibly need more.
Well-spoken, well-mannered and well thought of,
A never-ageing, immaculate whore.