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Best Poems Written by Balbir Singh Dosanjh

Below are the all-time best Balbir Singh Dosanjh poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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My soul was killing my flaws

I look at my soul killing its flaws. I appreciate it and let it do so. But when I came back to earth to show them a perfect human, I realized my mistakes made me who I am. Without my flaws, I am just a perfect human—but not me.

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I saw the world through blood

I was looking at the world through my eyes,
curious to see its parallel side.

I had grief because I was seeing it through blood,
but as I heard my praises and insults,
glanced over the beautiful mountains
and growing poverty,

that became my biggest pride —
to witness the world like this.

But when my hand started to grow cold
from the pain and suffering,
I saw the blood was in my hand.

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Love is like a void

Love is like a void until it will accept you it's gonna deprived every qualities of your, but the best part of these voids is that one day it's gonna accept you or leave you and then you will get your qualities again but you will see it with her eyes. Because that's what made you choose between your qualities and love and, you chose love and that was your biggest sin.

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The time I looked at god

There was a time I looked at God with sea water in my eyes, drowning in a river of problems. I asked Him, with the last piece of devotion I had, why the Bible never told us that hell is not in the darkness beneath the earth, but in the light of the earth, right in front of us. Why do we keep accusing the wrong side and worshipping the light? Why is hell on the surface, God? Why?

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I had that stone

I was looking at a dying man who was asking me for a stone I had in my pocket. He wanted it to survive, but he was a sinner—because a book said he made fun of people and abused them. I watched him grow pale and wondered: should I help him because of his situation, or let him die because of his deeds? Then I thought, why should I care? And I continued walking along the footpath.

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The silence between the words

I love the silence between words, because when I’m talking to her,
every time she stutters, my heartbeat waits for her words to make me alive again.
Every time she looks at me, I think that maybe she’s the one.
Every time I confess my love for her, her silence between the words makes me feel important.

Was she the one, or was I just overthinking?
Those silences between the words could make me impatient,
but when she’s silent, I get to look at her tender face, her mesmerizing eyes.
That’s the time when she’s not trying to fit into the class, or trying to be someone else.
That’s the time she is what I like — she was not like us.

That’s why I loved the silence between the words — because I never got an answer from it.

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When I gave beggar a coin

A beggar grabbed my hand and cried for some spare change.

At first, I offered him a sweet memory of food or a tasteless sip of divine water, but he asked for money.

I had a heavy coin and gave it to him.

I wondered why he took only the money, and when he saw it, he immediately placed it in a different spot.

I asked why.

I offered you food and water—you rejected both, and now you hide the coin.

He said it was the most different one, and if he didn’t hide it, other people would start accusing him that the coin was wrong, that it shouldn’t be used—because its print was different, because its color didn’t match theirs.

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Why you like imperfection

If you look at a still pond,
you’ll see your reflection,
but it’s more vivid or unclear to see
because it is not meant for showing your reflection.

A mirror was created for that job,
but why do people like to see their reflection in water
when it’s not as clear as a mirror?

Because, at the end,
people like the imperfect thing
in which they see goodness.

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I would let him die

I would see him die, rather than saving him.

I don't know what his life could be after he dies, or if he would be saved.

If someone dies, that person is remembered, would be praised for his good deeds, or criticized for words he never meant in that way.

But I will have the thought that he will have a better afterlife—what many people don't know about.

But if I save that person, I don't know what major change I will cause in his stormful presence.

He is looking dead into my eyes, like his eyes are telling me that I am the last living person who hasn't seen him with disgust.

I saw him jump over the bridge.

At first, I thought a thief or a burglar took his wallet and pushed him off.

But now I am questioning what I should believe—

The fake thought that I have created, or the reality that he wants to die in.

And at that point, I would let him die, rather than saving him.

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Love can be materialistic

Love is not something that belongs only to a living soul.
It could be anything your soul is tied to.
Neither human nor god,
but something you chose above them both—
that is what love truly is.
You look at it and know you cannot live without it.
It is not a person, nor devotion.
That is love.