Tag: poem

Expensive Chocolate

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

If I think of all the earlier times,
Of all the dried tears, of all the mixed rhymes,
When I sit and listen quiet to thought,
To all the blissful dreams innocence brought,
The hopes that felt lost somewhere in prayer,
Futures predicted by some soothsayer,
Fathers who seemed to loom so dark and large,
Or those who sold loving words for a charge,
Sailboats guided by dragons in the rain,
Cold nights of love and colder nights of pain,
Ailing mothers who took away sorrow,
Sisters who bravely gave their tomorrow,
Lovers who came, came and crushed all desire,
Feeding worn faith to a funeral pyre,
Grandparents who spoke of idyllic days –
In short, life’s each ephemeral phase.
I remain wide-eyed and alone.
Derelict and silent. A tombstone.
Quietly sipping expensive chocolate,
Thinking about will, wondering about fate.

Unhappy

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

There is this part of me,

A responsibility,

I feel it every day,

Scraping my insides,

I have reasoned with it,

Telling it to grow up,

Be strong and face life

And its reality.

I have bargained with it,

Giving it compassion,

Clothes and food,

Even a daily hug;

But it wants more.

I cannot give this thing

A loving glance,

It has remained the same,

I’ve outgrown this dance.

It asks me at daybreak,

If I still feel passion;

But time has changed me,

In every physical fashion.

It seeks to feel what I gave,

A long time ago,

I choose to bestow a hug

And nothing more.

It asks me at noon,

If I remember it at work,

And I want to yell

“How can I forget your fucking nails?”

It asks me at twilight,

If the sun is as gold

As the time we danced,

I look at the gold and think

How many more years

Before it burns out.

Perhaps if I ignore the thing,

Its own need will eat it alive.

I’ll prevent a rescue,

Even if it is from me –

Perhaps sadness will do the deed

For it can never be happy.

What would I ask Life…

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

What would I ask Life

If I met her one day?

Why couldn’t you make Love stay?

Wasn’t your spring young enough

To defeat autumn’s blight?

Could the summer flowers not

Sustain the winter night?

Could your cyclic seasons

Leave no hope for Love’s heart?

Could reincarnation

Not prevent you to part?

Were the dreams that you dreamed,

At the dawn of childhood,

Bitter as Time to die

As all sad mortals should?

Or were you just too vain

To labor for love

As a good lover should?

Was love not the lover

You hoped he would be,

And you got abused by Hope

And Love’s own vanity?

Were you too busy with Time

Neglecting love’s demand?

Was Time deceitful enough

To keep you in demand?

If everything’s a cycle

And what was now is,

What the past hides away

The present always sees,

I ask of you, dear Life,

After all that you give,

You end up with just you,

What makes you want to live?