Death, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry

Forget your Touch

I swallow a room in my mind,
to digest its origins.
Its woodwork churns and mollifies,
I could feel my fingers full of sawdust and laughter,
lost handprints(possibly mine), from the dying
furniture and the floor caress my head.

You will always find a way to meet yourself,
once you are forgotten by everyone.

The lights are turning dim,
I do not know, how to serve light in a tall glass for myself?
Can you teach my fist to hold sands of darkness?
I shall learn somehow, to sprinkle when necessary.

You can learn anything, you want.
But remember to put off the light in the end.

The garden screams with its emptiness,
and my eyes could bear the shrieks.
Is this is how I forget your touch?
Without music? Without sleep?

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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creative-writing, Death, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Poems, poetry

Pointless

I was born out of a blood-bath
and will turn to dust someday,
I shall finally laugh voicelessly
while resting on a bed of fire.

The horizons shall still be untouched
their throats shall still bleed
as the sun sets in tired
by this never ending melancholy.
A thousand dogs shall still be homeless
their hopeful eyes still clueless

The men shall still be reckless,
The women shall still be remorseless,
The earth shall still be lifeless,
This cycle shall still be pointless.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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

A Henchman’s Dream

black coffee on the table,
clean cold steel-chiselled Glock

loaded and placed in the bed-drawer.
The sharp wire that smells of the skins

and flesh it has strangulated. A black pair
of gumboots, a black overcoat, a black void

of past. A distant daughter who loves strawberries,
cats with abhorrence for your existence.

Cadillac, a pair to tan gloves, a love for silence,
love for the sight of eyes turning red, pleading

A packet of cigarettes, a bottle of Miller’s
An emptiness that spreads, a death that patiently lives.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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

Untitled Dreams

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It is like soaking your feet
in an ocean’s wave
embracing the temporary belonging
of the cold water, tingling your toes.

You wish today, it rains now,
so you can forget about the waves and lie down
to dissolve in the sand grain by grain.

It should end the voices for some time.
Just a few raindrops now, A sound of a stream
slithering your skin , turning into a mute spectator of touch.

There is no need for caskets or pyres.
You are now in the womb of earth,
It’s the beginning of an end,
an end to all the beginnings.

You shall be everywhere:
in the crashes of waves,
in the sound of the rain,
in the howling of the winds,
and in the stars
that went astray while you were searching for me.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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