Tag: poem

The Moon.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The moon is bright in a sky of midnight blue,
and I can hear the howling of a wolf – and wind, too.
I walk onto the dark porch and hear the trees sigh,
and I lean down and stroke my dog lying nearby.
The grass is not trimmed, it moves in the breeze,
Somewhere in the house I hear my sister sneeze.
The porch light is broken, but the moon seems enough,
And the flying leaves prove the wind isn’t that rough.
I look up at the moon and hear the wolf’s lament,
Then squeeze my eyes shut and take in the firmament.
I wrap my arms around me in a warm embrace;
And let the moonlight and shadows play on my face.

My dog leans up and nudges my knee,
As if to ask me what thoughts I see.
I look down and gaze into her gentle soft eyes,
And think of telling her a few white lies.
Then I smile and, leaning close, whisper in her ear,
“Tonight the moon tells me I am not to fear.”
“Fear?” She cocks her large head at me,
“Oh never mind,” I chastise her, albeit fondly.

I look back at the moon and some clouds have her now,
I wait till I see her again with some stars on her brow,
I turn half not wanting to – and thank her with a smile,
For easing some of life’s worries for just a little while.

10th April

The Soldier of Osgiliath.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

(thus follows a dialogue between his wife and Gandalf, the White)

O rejoice! He is at last, long last,
Returned to me!
At last he’ll be free!
O years since he had been cast
On a treacherous route,
A road that’s dull and mute.

He stood strong and bold,
Amid the field,
Without a shield.
That was what was told.
He met the enemy strong
And, aye, battled hard and long.

Why won’t he open his eyes,
Bluer than sapphires,
All ablaze with fires?
Whereforth are all his cries,
Vibrant as the grey elves
Who hide in the green delves.

The arrow sang cold and sank deep,
He hit the ground,
Furor all around,
Putting him in a dreamless sleep,
That has no waking call,
Just a soft breakless fall.

The Star.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The Sun melts in the Ocean blue
And sparks fly in the Sky,
To make it a red-purple hue,
That turns dark by and by.

The last orange dips in the water,
Which is aflame with red,
And it brings the Day to its slaughter,
As it takes Night to bed.

The Moon rises to rape the Star,
Which has wishes to give;
Dark, purple clouds smog up to mar
The Moon. They seem to drive

The Star out of harm’s reach, but, then,
As Night begins to play,
The Star within the Moon’s lighted den,
Cannot, blissfully, stay.

A dog begins to howl and bark;
Crickets cry and bats fly,
Around and around in the dark;
They know—something must die.

The clouds cover the Moon with fog
And the Star shines alone;
The Wind drowns the howling dog
With its deep baritone.

The Moon appears again to shine;
The Star trembles in fright;
The Moon seems to cry: mine, mine, mine!
And all’s quiet in the Night.

Then, suddenly, the Moon turns dark:
A red, maroon, then – black!
The Earth’s grim shadow puts its mark,
And gives the Moon its back.

Lost in power the Moon lies cold.
The Star lives on – to light
The Earth with a glory untold
And defeats the Moon’s night.