Tag: rhyme

Et tu, Brute

Published on by Harpreet Chhachhia1 Comment

There are words that can cut like knives;
I have no use for the likes of such;
And when friends brandish them for woe,
That does seem to account for much.

They spin through the air and draw blood,
Much like some martial arts movie;
And they are sent with desires to wound
To decimate my self completely.

I see the glee in the eyes as they take aim;
The thoughtful precision of a taunt,
The cocking of the brow and curling lip
That releases the word designed to haunt.

I have never known the pleasure of this;
Perhaps it goes against my grain,
The way I was taught and reared and loved
Not to strike back in kind; but refrain.

In laughter, much is said that wouldn’t be,
In laughter, wounds are made as well as healed,
In laughter, words are made and broken,
In laughter, much malice is artfully concealed.

It depends on how we choose to use it;
May a smile, that softly reaches the eyes,
Overtake a barbed word, that spins forth,
Before a patchwork of marked lies.

May soft eyes, genuinely, care to safeguard
Tender feelings and genuine pleasure;
May everyone be happy and sane
And let what is leisure remain leisure.

Forty

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Then as you turn a decade older,
The heart turns ten degrees colder;
The outward smile warps inward now,
The lines deepen the widened brow.
Age has taught much as it should,
Have you learnt as much as you could?
Are there newer hurts left to feel?
Are there newer hopes left to reveal?
Is there time left for parched lips to kiss?
Is there anything left for you to miss?
Do the rhymes fail and fall blank
Into talent that was never frank?
Smiles are ready. Regrets are uncertain.
Loss made sure all rules lay broken.
As you move from white and black to grey,
Fuck what you do and hear and say.
People are never who they appear,
In time you know, they will all disappear;
Hands that held yours were just hotter air –
Tragic; but belief taught you despair.
This air flows in and out much like breath,
It will flow on, perhaps until death.
Smile, though what you feared would surely hold,
Turn rusting iron into molten gold.
Wear the coronet and rise and shine.
You won you with the passage of time.

I could, I know.

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I could learn to hate the memory of you –
For, if this where you planned to leave me –
You shouldn’t have made promises to be true –
You should have let my lonely heart be.

Loneliness hurts, I know, but it doesn’t infect
The future’s hope in good dreams of time.
Now all you’ve left me are tears that reflect
Seeping sores living through contrived rhyme.