Tag: Relationship

To A—-

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia2 Comments

To A—-

I shall think of smiles Today from the Past,
When we first met eight Septembers ago;
Those smiles which somehow managed to last,
Despite, both, Life and Time’s opposite flow.
The first rose I gave you is still bright red
In my mind’s eye, as are the ones you gave;
But Today’s incomplete if this isn’t said:
We are lovers, who Fate fails to enslave,
We passed the tests of grief Life had to give
And did well in what Time dared us to do.
Despite tears, we made those early smiles live
And, successfully, made some that’re brand new.
Our love, like our smiles, isn’t filled with the Past;
Its evolution is what makes Us last.

14th Feb
2:45am

The Twins.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Storming the brain of the mind of the twin,
Had not the measure of love that would give
Joy, nor the hurt, nor the pain that could win
All the interesting decisions to live

Flying from Worlds where Happiness lives on,
Rested in homes wherein Lust oft deceived –
Laughing and waving with him Hope had gone –
Smilingly, Life in a whisper believed:

“Lying for thee, and then pining for thee,
“Crying for all, to be happy for what?
“Vain and unkind, to be sure, thou shall be,
“Naught to the world, in quandaries caught.”

Just like the Earth, in a dream for the Sun,
Blissfully aches to unite and be one,
Hearts of the two (like the Prodigal Son)
Waiting to feel then be crushed by the ton.

Waiting and waiting, to wait is a curse,
Lasting forever like darkness of death,
Hope has been carried away in a hearse,
Gone and forgotten to never be met.

Life which follows with a staggering sway,
Breathes with the burden of living alone,
Crying in anger and begging her stay,
Losing a twin is a reason to mourn.

Looking in eyes that do kindly seem true,
Life in a dilemma is scared to be weak,
Searching for Hope in a crowd of so few,
Now, to be happy, a love she does seek.

The Same Moon

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The brightest stars twinkle in their places,
In the cloudless, dark blue sky.
On warm earth the flowers lie
With a dewy sprinkle on their faces.
The breeze sifts in a soft lullaby;
A nightingale croons: “Not him, ‘tis I.”

The lover sits beneath a leafy bower
Reviving a memory,
Of what was destined to be.
Remnants of it fall in a wary shower;
Wisps of an immortal mystery,
Of what is to be or not to be.

Always so distant and never too close;
Neither the ground for flight,
Nor the question of might.
Always the sun gave way as she arose;
The same love at her fair sight,
The same moon for us at night.