Tag: Relationship

To Anand

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

In the heat of the sun, you came with me,
Forsaking ties that could bind you right fast,
And all that I could think of, so vainly,
Was if what you feel for me could e’er last.
You looked to my feet, when I looked ahead,
Trying t’see what destiny has in store,
For your thoughts, so simply with actions wed,
Were to prevent my falling down once more.
In the dark, you held me with promises,
Since I wept, for I would not see you soon.
Oh, to make them last! Those words and kisses
And that coolness of that pale, summer moon!
But, I trust you, so I write this in rhyme:
I’ll let my heart follow love one more time.

My Love Threatens.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

He grows away from me!
But why do I even care?
What? Why?
Years have passed, haven’t they?
I should have escaped Love’s snare!

Love made me compromise!
And always I was the one cheated!
My heart proved cold initially –
Was always the one to get slowly heated!

So much heat that, on reflection,
Makes me the fool!
As his warm heart flitters down
And he gets to play Daddy Cool!

I bare my fucking soul,
In this fucking love game,
So much so that my fucking pride,
Keeps forgetting my fucking name!

My name! That I’ve created
With such arrogant determination!
And now it rests in his hand
Bearing heated flagellation!

It comes finally to this point:
Where he threatens with an illicit fuck!
My heated heart finally realizes!
It is finally out of luck!

(Tragic.) But the question of Hate
Is never out of Love’s circumference!
The opposite of both creatures
Is flaccid Indifference!

Because my whipped heart is still warm,
I struggle to hold it up at the stake:
What? Why?
Let it cool into feeling nothing?
Or just let the feeling thing break?

A Love Grown Old.

Published on by Harpreet ChhachhiaLeave a comment

Seven falls have come and gone.
Life has pressed us paper thin.
The seasons pass and love rusts;
Indifference comes creeping in.

No touches now, no parting glances,
No cards or sentiments on flowers;
No tender private smiles
To ease the pain of the passing hours.

The hours! Oh, the hours
Hasten away and my body grows cold,
While I wonder if this is true
Of a love that seems to grow old.

Grows old with my ageing face,
With those young eyes now morose,
Over a lack of interest,
In a love, in captured repose.