Tag: poemblog

What Tomorrow?

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I don’t know what tomorrow’s going to bring—
We make our plans, but they don’t always stick.
Life shifts the rules with barely any warning,
And things can go to hell real bloody quick.

I spoke to my sister of future affairs—
Who gets what, and where the lines are drawn.
But truly, who can say what’s fair or final
When fate might toss it all before the dawn?

Friendships I swore would last have cracked and faded,
Lovers I trusted left me worse than bare.
There’s no way to foresee the next betrayal—
Who’ll walk away, and who’ll pretend to care.

So here I sit and write upon the loo,
Aware no school will teach this sombre verse.
Yet if I sleep tonight and don’t awaken—
This poem won’t even earn a second curse.

As Time Takes Me

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

I sit and stare at my phone.
Images swipe past, as do voices.
They all tell me stories;
They all give me choices.

But I’m surfeited with life and death.
And can’t truly tell what seems better.
I must have handed this decision
To a love who loved in some love letter.

Now things aren’t clear as I stare.
I can’t think of a tomorrow.
Then may be smiles I can’t see,
Now is just a tsunami of sorrow.

So perhaps, as the summer wanes
And blistering heat turns into rain,
I might choose a brand new story,
As time helps me live beyond the pain.

The Age of Dust

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Read about wars;
Heard about deaths;
Know human beings
And their penchant for power.
Fairy tales spoke of it:
Witches who killed princes,
Then priests who killed witches—
Even those who healed.

April brought sweet showers
That the dead could not dance in.
Yet wars were fought,
History was written—
Differently, for different powers.
Gods upon millennia
Passed.
And human beings remain
Stupid.
Clinging to faith, or awe,
Taught by fear
Of being so small
In the glowing massiveness of universes.
Unrealising:
We come from stars, too.

Yet we choose death,
Born of greed that strips
Root from tree,
Child from mother—
To fight for strips of land
That will never remain ours.
Nor will the name
Your dead mother gave you,
That the world remembered
For just an age.