I want the wall of divide to fall apart and Forget we’re born of different parents We are the children God made for love Now the parents of children teaching only love above all.
Let’s once again remember our childhood pleasures When I, holding the hand of my baby brother, Walked over the red gulmohar carpets Running and playing in our grandpa’s garden.
Let’s remember the fun with your friends Holding small bats but too heavy for the hand Hitting with all your might and happily Frightening our basking cocks and hens.
Let’s, once again, forget we are grown-ups, and Sprinkle the plants with our overflowing love-cans And share secret smiles at the nest filled eggs We discovered in our shrubs.
Let’s hide and watch the woodpecker Hammering his long beak into the the huge trunks Of the goliath gul-mohar, frilled with white and blue orchids Dancing in the breeze upon its hardly delicate waistline.
Let’s reminiscence our childhood love When I bathed you, brushed your hair, buttoned your collars To march you to school, sharing home-work with my overtired brother, Reading you out fairy-tales before tucking you to bed.
Let’s cherish, for the joy of love, when you and I were sharing our togetherness Caring for each other, with pleasures undefined Childhood is a dream, youth we have surpassed, Our present bond I hold fervently, my dearest brother, above all temporal frays.
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