Tag: poem

Despondency

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

The tangled webs of cruel death and life;
The neutral shades of colour, black and white;
The bondage of hope and sacrifice;
The present darkness, and the absent light.
The horrible sun, the vain, dirty moon;
This sluttish earth, that lying, calling sky;
The maddening silence, that haunting tune;
The things that crawl, the wretched things that fly;
The prostitute Love, her diseased pimp Hate;
Bliss of oblivion, horrors of fame,
The bastards of destiny or of fate,
Be they anonymous or with a name.
The laugh of happiness or sadness’ cries;
This auctioned world of promises and lies.

To Anand

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

In the heat of the sun, you came with me,
Forsaking ties that could bind you right fast,
And all that I could think of, so vainly,
Was if what you feel for me could e’er last.
You looked to my feet, when I looked ahead,
Trying t’see what destiny has in store,
For your thoughts, so simply with actions wed,
Were to prevent my falling down once more.
In the dark, you held me with promises,
Since I wept, for I would not see you soon.
Oh, to make them last! Those words and kisses
And that coolness of that pale, summer moon!
But, I trust you, so I write this in rhyme:
I’ll let my heart follow love one more time.

Myself.

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia5 Comments

The swing I sat on, when I was five,
Gave me the greatest pleasure.
I knew happiness as I swung,
Thinking life was leisure.
The wind rushing against my face
Promised that it would last.
Now, I smile, ruefully,
When I remember that swing from my past.

Life is cruel, just as it is kind,
(To be kind it needs to be cruel);
Love, happiness, honour and beauty
Are trapped in its unceasing duel.
I used to love with gay abandon;
Now caution dictates my every move,
In matters of life,
In matters of love.

I still wear my heart on my sleeve,
Though I try harder to shield it,
I have sharpened my brain with experience,
And I have learnt to wield it.
Years have passed and are passing still,
I have lost those I loved and some have lost me,
I have been touched and have been bruised,
Each caress and weal is stored in memory.

You see a part of me now,
Perhaps I shall let you see the other sides of me:
Perhaps you’ll see the boy, with the wind on that swing,
Perhaps the present or some future destiny.
Through all of your judgement know this,
Disregarding every shred of vanity:
You never did, never will or hope to know,
Any other quite like me.