Harjeet Singh is an Indian English poet and short story writer. He has earned a Master's degree in English from his district college Hoshiarpur (Punjab). His father Principal "Joginder Singh” was an ardent lover of English language and his guidelines have made him able to grasp some of the fundamentals of this language. His work has appeared in Indian Ruminations, Conceit magazine, Children, Churches & daddies magazine, literary yard, in "Across the wall" chapbook, Scarlet leaf review, Creativity webzine, Indian Perodical,The Enchanted file cabinet 2018 conceit magazine.He is the denizen of district Hoshiarpur (Punjab).
Apologies on this orb and in Paradise forever
Children in a body were gamboling.
So honest-to-God were not in on, what’s going on.
Not sentient of pros and cons were rambling.
Under unlighted trees with singsong tone
Rubbernecked vertically but not horizontal zone
They began to raise stones, so small ﬁsts missing desired aim.
Unwisely a rock ran into hermit’s head, sitting aside lone
Drawn-out meditation was disrupted in fruit gaining game.
Anger rose up right away, to whom hermit was to blame.
Red eyes what with breaking link with God
Who dared to take step, but no reply came.
And pause in breath, as no courage to afford,
Little souls in a blue funk bowed their heads in shame.
Red stamps changed into lividness, as they were tame.
And spoke shrinkingly in unison, ‘now stricken what you would shower
As trees purveyed after clash,’ changed his mind’s frame
‘Anything you can demand, no, no! mere apologies as our dower
Little souls! go now, apologies on this orb and in Paradise forever’.
When someone asked the lover
According to you: what is lengthy?
Spoke he, extended: the black tress of beoved,
Besides, drawn-out black night is more
long term to meet her moment.
The most tedious spell
of a waiting moment
while yearning for her.
Humanities teamed up
When I was in semester
She bought the farm leaving me
Wontedly I found harbor
But never got single soul.
He also walked in the lead
My cup, what is in the books
But humanities teamed up.
Saints are owner of Third Eye
But we people have imaginative wings
burdened with excogitation.
Creative mind belched some fragments of literary findings
But now I am mystified,
What did it begin to exhale?
At times, it snoops into other affairs
Perhaps because I have been a ghost
of creative work.
Whenever I passed by some readymade costumes market
I always felt prompted because of
some favored graphs and lines on habiliments
And purchased them with sudden choice
and impromptu pocket(funds)
But now what happens to me,
Whenever I close my eyes to augur
Clothes,curves on them and matching
sought by my own imaginative wings,
like a dress designer,
dangle before my closed eyes.
And I run to find out,
But still they are not available.
Former vs latter
Whom would you consider bad?
With what bias would you blame?
When someone scathes heart and soul.
Felon is decried, branded
But sufferer loses his
grievances against offender
When the worst mortal aggrieves.
Visits have been purposeless
Back in the day, when I was a member of
halls of knowledge,
To wear attention getting attires was my penchant.
Whenever I opened torn statue (almirah)
Hidden showcased costumes pleased my heart.
Now past habits echo,
Still heart is heavy for past wonts
But routes are aimless.
Those who were enamoured of
my way of attiring,
like me they too have left places.
Though places are full- fraught with fledglings,
But now visits have been purposeless.