beauty, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Poems, Poetry

Your Presence

Your presence,
Is a dance without a hymn,
A ballad without a bend,
a winter without an end:
where I curl up by the fogged glasses
to forget the warmth, sun offered me once.
The bright of your eyes are the shy autumn and mysterious fall.

Your absence,
Is a sigh without despair,
A rain without the air,
A summer with ominous ends:
My smile sometimes pretends.
For time becomes a path,
and journey is measure in memories.
I become a monk and a thief,
looking for peace, settling for grief.

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beauty, creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Poems, poetry, Work from Home

Forever

To write about you,
Is it to dream about a song.

The humming of your voice
Is a symphony sometimes.

Do you see my heart dancing
In all the flames you set within me?

Do you feel the warmth that brews
within me, as the echo of your voice
slithers into my soul.

If you are the music,
then teach me to dance,
alone, unapologetically, forever.
Just once.

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beauty, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Drown

Like the waters in Greece,
blue, succulent , tapered into viscous curves
stay now, don’t leave.
This sigh reinvents itself more warmly,
sensing your departure.

Let me dream of it as you disappear,
The bed with white linen reminding us 
of our flesh embellishing our existence.
A touch is what remains etched on my eyes.
Somehow now unseen, untouched.

What would the yellow kiss of sunlight greet?
A smile made of dreams?
Or dreams devoured off smiles.
The plants exhale hues of tamarind,
warm green tea succors the seperation,
In my wake,
I am next to a bottle of our emptiness.
I should have drowned when you stared me last night.

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beauty, Desire, erotica, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Poems, Poetry, Work from Home, Writings

Felt

The unknown are felt,
With hands moving inside,
Feeling the black bra, while
your face turns red with joy of ecstacy.
Everything turns to water, your lips below
turn into a fountain of desire,
and your legs closing with wetness.
Waiting to be touched
Waiting to be consumed
Waiting to be felt

Shashank Bhardwaj

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