A sky sculpted of silence,
At behest of a voiceless cry,
Somebody awaits my hymns again.
My tongue swirls itself :
A snake bathing in the burning blood.
The same nightmare again,
Where my veins smell of dead flowers.
The eyes turn into a vehement dark pond.
A feast of wingless ravens, slowly eating themselves to death :
My heart wasn’t that useful anyways.
Come close today , Stay.
Taste this macabre of my lips.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Writings to Heaven 
As always, dark and beautiful. Good to read you after a while. If I haven’t mentioned earlier, I greatly admire your pen.
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Thanks Nandita. I do admire your words too.. Looking forward to read more of your works. 🙂
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😊
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