Tag: poem

The Heart.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

There is no present future for the heart,
Sadness and love seldom (if ever) part.
Locked in different, tiny chambers lie
Pride, Love, Hope, Anger and Jealousy.

Each cannot hear the others tears
And there is a slow build-up of fears
Blood is the only messenger here,
Which deals with its own diseases drear.

Love wails, Pride stomps its hoof,
Jealousy burns and Anger lashes the roof!
Hope prays and struggles to live
And the hearts lost What to take? What should give?

It has got to breathe. It has got to beat.
Muster some will while giving body heat.
If only you knew, poor, poor, little heart,
When the end and why to even start.

29th January, 2003.

To Yani.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Travelling down a winding, swerving road,
With Eucalyptus trees on either side,
Just greeted by rain with freshness bestowed
With the morn smiling as a blushing bride,
Moving toward a little hall of fame:
Our quest amidst this Natures beauty,
Making it through to make this claim,
Dissecting friendship from explicit duty.
I have known friends throughout my normal life;
I have been torn apart by some, who
Made the needed choices of daughter, wife,
But, here, on this road, I fondly think of you.
Knowing simply the journey was worthwhile,
Due to the company of your quiet smile.

15th June 2003.
Betul.

Words on Thought.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

In my heart, there are certain places that are shared by none;
For those are the places restricted to the number one,
Among whom special people share a certain heart-view;
And among this number I count you.

In life, life itself fails to allow words to express each emotion
Every fish can certainly not describe each and every ocean
Aye, at times, a word communicates itself by thought,
In days like these, these are rarely wrought.

The thought to call out lurks all day, then the eye spots an eye,
So this thought suddenly unfurls its wings and begins to fly,
When the eye, done, blinks and rebounds to it, by-and-by,
The thought is consumed by the blue sky.

Words again I use to describe the thought that was forgotten,
Threads of silk I need to use to tie up this wayward cotton,
To let you know, in this place, in my heart, where you reside,
There is but soft simple cotton with no silk beside.