Category Archives: creative-writing

beauty, creative-writing, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Poems, poetry

Portrait Poetry – II

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

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creative-writing, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Poems, Poetry

Float

Drowning-by-Alban-Grosdidier-yatzer-20

My hair kisses my nose sometimes
Its unruly in every sense, I agree.
to hold a whiff of air without its permission,
to be unhinged at the tips,
to become a dark wave of freedom
in the afternoon light.

The longest distant star from Earth is 5 billion light-years away,
I read last night.
They brought him closer to me by naming it Icarus.
Does it still dreams of kissing the sun?

The longest distance I have ever walked,
was between a beautiful never-ending dream
to an obvious ominous reality,
because you could never tell if you have arrived or not.
I should have used my legs for same,
for they could have told me to stop in between.

The hardest pain is the one you can never touch,
It just flows as a river and takes you away.
Even if you close your eyes, you will still be wet.
Even if you swim away, you will still be wet.
Even if you drown, they will find you, still wet.

So why not just put your hair down,
and float to the abyss?

© Shashank Bhardwaj

Pic Credits – Alban Grosdidier

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beauty, creative-writing, Death, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Kamikaze

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The black coat drenches,
The drizzle traces my hidden skin,
For it is so tired
of caressing the lifeless muddy grounds.

It has learned to leave my eyes untouched.
It has been practicing this for long.
His own Kamikaze,
Where it slithers on a body
full of life,
and separate lifelessly, into a bright void

Reincarnations? Nirvana?
Does it even feel like tasting them?
Just an inexplicable bursting orgasm,
that bursts its body into a million pieces.

Yeah, suck on that!
You all Religious Dickheads.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Why?

How do you define complexity?
A thing that is complex in nature?

Like the blood is red in colour,
because it is red.

It doesn’t make any sense
It does make all the sense.

My breath shall leave me someday,
because it is not entirely mine

It does make me fear death.
It does not make me fear anything.

My heart yearns for someone, again and again.
Because I cannot understand the yearning.

It does make me yearn for her.
It does make me want to stop.

I don’t know why.
Why do I not know?

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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beauty, creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, Writings

The Facade of Symmetry

Symmetry

How brutal would it be,
to draw a line in the air on something
of interest, with your eyes:
to be in awe of the subdued parallax
and then simply call it beautiful.

Won’t your fingers itch before doing so?
Won’t they feel the need to caress the surface
before labeling its existence beyond question?

Won’t your tongue go dry of thirst
seeing its colors untasted and unspilled.

Do you really love,
symmetry to this extent?
You forgot the chaos
you were born in.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Imagine, Life, Poems, poetry

Whitest white

Blood soaked ribs, smoked to death,
draped over with velvety violet,
over the mahogany dripping table.
The sunlight prays to mate with this smell,

Come, child, tell me
When was the last time
you smelled light and travelled through time?

When was the last time
you tasted an abyss and it was sweeter than
the wind that flows in a thousand valleys
all drenched in rain.

The laundry box looks like it has been shot
twice, a fucking mess, its internals,
your second skin is all over the floor.

But you pick up the whitest white and head
to the room with no sunlight, no smell,
no eyes.

Why?

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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beauty, creative-writing, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Prized

Bound, tied and muted to surprise,
you lay down on my bed, naked as a prize.
I veil your eyes in this never ending darkness,
whispering to intensify this sumptuous treat,
As I pour freshly molten wax drops all over your body,
to make sure that tonight, you cannot sleep,

Come warm my hands now slowly ,
Take them between your tempting legs,
I will try to melt them with my tongue,
If you just tell me ‘Yes!’

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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