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
This Dusk, with its violet lips
slithers in from the windows
It rescues my reclused face
with a knife made up of light
and cold bones:
The eyes are dissolved
in a jar of warm red blood.
to cleanse any memory
of unwanted colours.
I remember when you left, that afternoon
like a rainbow disappears in the untouched mist.
I have been filleting that image
with my nails, now worn out.
But all I get is the taste of bitter gold,
over my tongue and dreams of red autumn
in my sleep.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
I lie beside the red tree,
the sky is an estuary of the cold
blue winds and warm fire poured out in sky.
The song of this earth is a song of color,
Devoured and abandoned by the wrath of sea.
A sword cleaves the belly of the sky
To pour light in my pupils, too drowned by an evening on fire.
There deserts mourns for wetness of my tongue,
its sand wobble like a flightless bird, to feel the sweat tickle my back.
I become an earth,
In a pause, they call as sleep.
The oceans wrap my hands
In a glove of salt water,
and whispers me
to write with eyes closed.
While its still time.
While it still matters.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
This wall with its cracks,
Where every crevice
is an unheard voiceless moan,
becomes an abyss of observation
for my restless eyes.
I trace its tips every night,
Its faint wreckage,
till I could
listen it being fissured
inch by inch by tips unknown
in the viscous dark.
Time melts itself slowly,
dripping all the way to my eyes,
drowning my visions, and if that was not enough
The light brews at the lips of dawn,
flooding the room with a desperate silence,
dissolving the beautiful little chaos in my life,eventually.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
And who do you become?
by swallowing a light deciphered
through a stained glass,
For its crystals are lattices of memory,
that have caressed your ghostly voiceless passages.
It breaks in an afternoon, you never noticed ,
The memory vaporizes
and before you know, it smells as if
someone remembers you in a time you forgot.
Do you become a ghost, savoured by unfiltered light, blinded to the earth by a touch that warms?
Is this how they mix, fear and nostalgia
to a heart that is child to its own and aloof of its lineage?
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Black mass of surreal beauty
all tied and convolved.
I still remember the smell of your hair,
For it traced me to all the paths you took me over your body.
The eyes of temptation do haunt me still,
Like a storm unasked, you blew my thoughts away from your red wet lips,
I could have traced the neck and the sculpted collarbone
caressing all the way to the breasts and sumptuous waist,
drowning in the desirous touch.
But only if you let me.
Should I?
Look into my eyes and answer.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
The hair is veiled
With abysmal darkness
But your smile is the light of those red lips,
You spell an aura of resplendence.
From your fair collarbone and desiring neck,
Your curves tempt every living soul with some youthfulness left in their hearts and a pair of functioning eyes.
Perfectly shaped bosoms,
curved over a black brasserie
That trace towards a series of irresistible
sun baked beauty.
Now move slowly,
Let me forget this image.
I need some sleep,
To dream you again.
Unravelling everything slowly
Till you forget to stop me.
© Shashank Bharadwaj
Writings to Heaven 