Tag: poem

When You Return To Me.

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia7 Comments

When you return to me
After a hard day’s work:
After five hundred and forty minutes
Of standing with strangers,
Talking and trying to make a sale
To people who know nothing
Of how strongly you love;
After sitting through spare minutes
Of thinking of what I could be doing
At that very moment,
Missing me,
After working (hard)
At what makes me proud of you –
When it’s not necessary at all;
After loving me,
Through those five hundred and forty minutes,
You come back to me –
To tell me you love me,
I cannot help but want
To hold your hand
In mine
And never let go.
I cannot help but love,
Love you forever.

1:00pm
1st May.

Party

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia2 Comments

The crowded room and eyes that abound
Some locking, some moving on,
Some turning back, after seeming to move around,
Then the music plays, the dance is on.

The lights flash and everything throbs.
The breath. The hearts. The blood.
Emotions frothing while passion bobs
Up. Up amidst the sweat heated flood.

Hands brush a sculpted body ahead,
The eyes, those eyes, turn;
An invitation to a far-off bed,
While here bodies burn.

The music vibrates ‘round the borrowed room
And consumes the frenzied mass;
It’s almost a densely packed womb
Where energy astounds but seldom lasts.

A vivid range of humanity,
Each heart fighting his own fight;
A valiant war against eventuality
Ultimately done to find Mr. Right.

What I Know of Heaven and Hell.

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

I have never asked for much.
Just to live the way You made me.
I have lived by my terms alone.
Those were conducted honestly.

No great ambition, no low vice,
Yet I’ve suffered loss, greatly so;
But I have shown no cowardice
And this is something You do know.

You put one hubris in my heart:
This need that burns within my core.
You caressed it thrice with your pawns
Ultimately, I was Your whore.

You threw down love, like ‘twas my fee,
For all that I have given You.
Maybe my mistake was calling you Father
After lying before you naked and true.

I love You. But don’t treat me thus!
It’s unfair to make me desire.
On giving, you make me Your whore
But know that makes You my buyer.

If You need revenge of some sort,
You are exacting it quite well,
And in the pain of my loved ones
You are creating my hell.

People talk of life after death;
But, oh, I know the truth so well,
Each smile You let is my heaven,
Each tear You force is my hell.

5:45am
7th October.