A distance between nothingness
and hushed whispers, measured in silence,
where you throw your slippers away
and drown into the shallowest pond you could find,
just to disappear for a moment.

There is desolated piano
somewhere in between,
shedding its skin,
living off the mosses.
your hands do not remember
the melody, they have turned
into voiceless eyes.
The music never fades though,
the breath never ends,
the skin never melts.
there are no banks of hope,
It is just you and an emptiness within
mating shamelessly, producing progenies
that never stop wailing.

You want to swim,
You want to drink the pond away,
but the thirst dried ages ago.
So you wait for Sun,
To end it brightly.
Someday.

Shashank Bhardwaj