Tag: poem

The Maiden of Meduseld.

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

The horses rode briskly against the wind
The sun caught the gold on the roof of Meduseld
The mountains stood tall – nearly a circle
And the wind within their realm was caught and held.

Being a woman with the courage of a man,
Being a woman with the need to prove self worth,
Is robbing me of all the smiles I had,
Divesting me of freedom, with it, all life’s mirth.

In this dark world around and my own doubt
I perceived a glimmer of hope, a glazed light –
That was never mine to begin with.
And all that was left to me was the will to fight.

Fight not against the love I held;
But against the bittersweet cage that held me;
For love had forsaken me twice before;
And yet imprisoned me in woman’s vanity.

So fight I must, against my own heart,
And against the laws laid down by men I love,
Fight I must against my own heart’s pain,
And face calm death – from here, there, down and above.

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.