Category Archives: Desire
An Echo
Sound and Light aren’t different entirely,
nobody shall ever get used to distance.
I wait for your sound, without touching your face,
you become an echo, the reverberation: simply unbearing
I devour an apple, graciously,
of the orchards blooming softly,
extinguished they shall be,
for the valley of snow, bows to no heart.
our pulses prisoned to thoughts.
In a mountain somewhere where cold spares no one,
It’s all dew and despair,
the hands who pick these apples,
have read no verse for equality
it’s a serpent without colour, that teases
our thoughts to an unfulfilling macabre.
how soon we have evolved to non-existence,
of the dream of the fellow
on the cost of furlough of subsidiary resilience.
Sleep
To wait for a sleep,
As your heart blooms since midnight,
Whom would you listen to now?
The weather or the restless mind
She left me no option,
But just a trace of her voice,
I can travel on the course of it,
to discover how nights are disturbed
SB
Heartless
The tongue is heartless servant, it slithers on your neck and lips, like a snake devoid of warm flesh, I feel the warmth and the tremble in cleavage, but I am cursed as in Eden.
It smothers the bra slowly, peeking within with satanic eyes, the warmth is a thirst for a thing made of out flesh, it multiples while inside, caressing, pressing, Disappearing with eyes,
Your breath is a kiss of blaze burning and I was a winter worth nurturing with hands choking my existence
The breasts caressed slowly, into a tumultuous moment of touch, I trace the tips to its origin, feeling them erect and ready for to pleased, unhook now and lie down, let me taste the eden before being banished forever.
An Ode to Dying Winter
What is this heart?
if not a emotion driven by a flood of questions?
I lay shirtless in an unknown darkness,
Somebody robbed me of a known darkness,
Every nerve has a memory
Hence, I have no words to describe winter,
It reminds me of months of change,
It now reminds me to assess of the change.
There are no pomegranates or apples in my gardens,
It is just the ice soaked grass,
my toes hurt when I trespass my property.
For what?
I cannot change the end of winter,
If Winter was here, can Spring be far behind?
Nobody should ever listen to the aches of comfort,
of a winter of campfire and whiskey
You get used to it slowly,
Now the bottles are empty,
Some broken,
Some lost.
I wait in the edge of a land of disappearing snow,
thinking was it all worth it?
Yes it was.
Somebody tell my heart once again.This.
Please.
– SB
Move
Why don’t you just move your eyes.
To eclipse the shyness.
For I fear I will have to move your hair with my tips
My hands could trace the dark sparkle of your eyes.
Your lips but are unforgiving and unlearned,
they don’t tell me where to stop,
at the chin or at the soft flesh of neck?
I could sense the unnerving cleavage tremble
With this touch,
bosoms turning restless as a kid dissolved in nightmare
I feel a warmth brew in your breath
Does you have butterflies in your belly
When I do that?
The hands have a memory of their own,
They tresspass the neck, leaving warm flesh and bones for the tongue
To the unresting clevage that drowns in desire.
The soft breasts are sumptuously caressed,
Leaving an entire room for voices.
Feel the heartbeat through your lips,
Let the tongue convolve like spies on death sentence.
The waist turns into a carved flesh,
With black jeggins reflecting every curve within
Your could feel the hips firmed and soft with the black panties inside.
Roll down a feather and it will jump of the curves of hip.
Roll down a feather it will caress the breasts and land between the curves of the legs.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Dream -II
I feel your lips with the tips,
The wetness escapes to my hand
Your neck feels the breath
the warmth, the wetness
as the lips and tongue are licked.
Hold it right there, dissolve the taste.
As the hands caress your breasts, feel your soft bra and entrapped nipples.
Just moan in the slowest you can,
Take the hand, teach it the ways.
Its all yours now even with your eyes closed.
The necks are traced, my teeth turn thirsty
Biting into their soft flesh, caressing with the tongue
Breasts are felt as hands move inside the top,
Touching the bra, feeling the soft clevage,
The erect nipples and the warm breasts.
Don’t break the lips, feel the touch through them
Writings to Heaven 