I saw the coffin of my daughter leave, Ashen faced and pale darkened lips, Her heart was dead and body cold, Listless she moved out of my threshold to horizons unseen. Turn back she would not, nor weep her doe eyes, My soul gonged, the end of love had begun, Never again my child shall return to the hearth of my heart.
Help she had asked, but was ruthlessly flayed Silencing her heart to stone, Tears vaporised and her eyes froze, The innocence vanished and love buried. The gurgle of laughter was heard but a century ago, Dutiful she will be, but never ever be mine, Never again shall my child return to the hearth of my heart.
Born were we as children and soon turned into parents, Languishing for freedom were our hearts in an unhappy childhood, Of restrictions imposed on dried young hearts. Mental tortures we repeat that we in elders had perennially despised, God’s laws for loving and giving, trust and freedom, elders do disband, The helpless solutions remain our crowning ego Now my hearth is in embers when my child is gone.
Balveen Cheema has been teaching English for 25 years. It is at the ripe age of 60 that she started penning her thoughts into poetry. Being brought up and educated by her grandparents in a cosmopolitan environs of Pune and visiting her parents in rural Punjab during her vacations, she shuttled between the modern and rural backgrounds . A strong streak of romanticism with nature and rustic pleasures is evident in many of her poems. At present she is residing in Chandigarh and still enjoying her first love, poetry!
Am I Alive, or am I dead? Is this all just a dream inside my head? I feel like I’m losing my grip. Quick say something, anything before I slip. Nightmares slowly creeping. Has he finally come to do the
The very essence of love is uncertain, A relentless thumping of the heart. I must speak to you by such means as they are within my reach. He pierces my soul driving me into madness. I am half agony, half
The moon awaits eagerly in the same pedestal it ignited my passion. What lips, my lips have kissed, are long forgotten. The memories easily quickened as a few puddles along the way I voluntarily stepped in. What arms have lain