The Exalted Pursuits

To define an exit,
is to summon a purpose,
I defined snow, without touching it.
It has never left me since.

In the dreams,
under the sky robbed of stars,
in this utter disturbance of existence.
I wished you never painted me as a mosaic,
as well as I do.

My hands coloring with hues of autumn, winter
and unkissed summer,
because to fail you shall be the end of my potrait.
the symmetry in love is astounding.

Thousand touches on those brown eyes still unfelt
shall yield their numbness:
an art before departure,
a history before invasion.
a cause without a purpose.

This winter ends today
the glass panes conjure a colorful silence :
yellow, a touch of comfort,
when it travels back,
this premonition of forgetfulness
shall shine on you.

Lay these eyelids on purpose, today, at least
What is to be lost? Than a fickle dream
and city made of failed purposes
with us as the lone survivors,
building cities as we forget,
what is like to be loved,
without words.



Oysters devoured raw with lemon,
the sun turning burned orange, its warmth
slips teasing my citrus lips,

The tongue of fire,
tell me once,
Is this all real:
silence amidst unquestioning brightness.

Would I not relapse, into the same room again
with a finished pinot noir on the floor?
the tongue needing a flood,
lungs: a river of smoke
and the heart: a sea of troubles.


Tell me

What is it?
That draws a knife through the heart?
Is it the separation between them?
The anonymity brewing between them?
The pause of decisions?
The thousand veins that weigh down the feeble heart?
The slithering silver edges tasting of unforgotten dreams ?

You need to draw it once.
The curse of repetition
begins with an imperfect try.
Be brave enough,
Not for the blood,
Not for the teared arteries,
Not for the sun that never sets on
the red river for forgiveness.

But for the silence
That follows.

An Echo

Sound and Light aren’t different entirely,
nobody shall ever get used to distance.
I wait for your sound, without touching your face,
you become an echo, the reverberation: simply unbearing

I devour an apple, graciously,
of the orchards blooming softly,
extinguished they shall be,
for the valley of snow, bows to no heart.
our pulses prisoned to thoughts.

In a mountain somewhere where cold spares no one,
It’s all dew and despair,
the hands who pick these apples,
have read no verse for equality
it’s a serpent without colour, that teases
our thoughts to an unfulfilling macabre.

how soon we have evolved to non-existence,
of the dream of the fellow
on the cost of furlough of subsidiary resilience.


Tied and blindfolded,
she is now eager to dissolve
within the sheets; like a prisoner
fantasizing a sentence all night.

her’s lacey panties have given up:
with a taste of defeat still on them all over the floor.
The pink nipples seek a thirst for untouched flesh.
She drowns your tongue slowly
with hers and everything blurs
to memories slowly.
She takes your tongue between the legs and the memories eviscerate to moans and desires.
Till you have given her what she wants.
You are now the prisoner tonight.
Enjoy your sentence slowly.

One Love Poem

I feel, I am out of love poems,
they have trespassed my diary as if,
someone blamed the toes of humanity
for it’s biased existence.

This earth, when it traces my toes.
finds a flood of remembrance.
the souls it walked with,
still brewing and adamant.
the nectar : my heart is now a mirror
the statis shall last it’s demise.
We are the last two birds,

Tell me, how to forgive a feather
for betrayal of flight.

To extinguish a love: A Manual.
Many people tried to write it,
in the rains of acceptance.
Ruins from Nostalgia to Acceptance,
Still hear the echoes,
of failure and despair.

There was no love poem
There was us.
It was just words.
The light was still as black,
as the day we slept together,
hoping for a dawn.
despite all the odds.
never knowing why.

  • Shashank Bhardwaj


An unsettling deciphers
a state of silence :
When every mirror sells illusion,
How can you trust a pair of dreamy eyes?

A stoic whimper,
A mist that smells like the sun,
A kiss that compels of it’s origin,
Carry all of them till the day of reckoning.

You never know, when you shall be healed,
A rebirth is just a meaningless smile away.
Isn’t it?

– Shashank Bhardwaj

An Ode to Dream

I inch slowly,
into this dark stupor,
my eyelids adjust themselves
to foresee imaginatively,
remembrance is the only curse and boon.

An old mirror robbed of it’s colours
and reflection deciphers my drowsiness.
I collapse into a ocean of sheets, searching
for a wave of untouched comfort

In a place this silent, sleep is a mermaid with brown eyes, singing to me, slowly ,a venomous hymn, drowning me into an oblivion of nothingness till I forget to mumble verses to the lonely sky.

She is busy today.



Revere, this blessed silence,
For I shall slip into your thoughts
once again, but this time
without a face or voice.

Contemplate the cause
For every bone tickles a question
when the sky is this dark,
’A pang of heart’ was a fool’s discovery.

For he ignores every vision that might be real,
For him the water is still full of air,
and the air still full of hope.

Before the drowning begins with his foolish steps
the dissonance muffles down slowly
choking the sweet breath, as promised

– Shashank Bhardwaj