This pandemic has made us work more than before, so for the sake of comfort I revamped my Writing/Work Setup. A mini office for the mini accomplishments .
The subways are empty
at the dead of the night.
Their exits recoil themselves
in the ashes of the ashes.
I whiff a pure smoke of a forgotten memory
and let it breed within my substructured brain.
A graveyard of cigarettes greets my shoes.
The lights go hazy as the winds turn warmer.
Another dull night has been devoured today,
with the help of a fifth of liquid courage.
Darkness needs darkness.
Its an immortal curse,
an undying thirst.
It travels with an agonizing silence
from the corpse of an empty bottle
to my eyes, staring an abyss
I wanted to curse everyone
with my eyes, while slitting their throats
by my tongue.
But I reach home dejected
whirling myself into an abyss
I try the usual grind,
to type something beautiful,
but the words have escaped my prison ago.
I need a new remorse, to vomit a new grief.
So I set the whole garden on fire
As the hour passes, grief cumulates
into nascent debris of nothingness.
Even with all arms folded neatly
or even haphazardly to the chest,
a vulnerability pulverizes the brightness
of your existence.
A silence deafens your vision.
Death sweeps a block of your reality.
It diminishes you :
You can’t hymn this untouched air.
It is a sudden void now.
You can’t unheed this strange silence.
It is a voiceless cry now.
The timid drops of time,
sunlight through a dusted shard of glass,
the chirp of a random bird,
the bustle of familiar road,
a heart stitched with a thread
made of fine-tuned painless ambitions,
is all you have now
and this elegy, for the unseen
to be read, when it rains.
For every voiceless sigh
I can see you, teasing the warmth left
In your palpable heart.
Its like the song of welcoming an unknown winter,
Where we once breathed in unison,
under an orchid :
sharing lies to be forgotten, to exile each other
from the warm belonging.
Poured upon us , the drop of truths
still vehemently jealous
Of our lips, who patiently and mutely
remember the arch of touch.
How close we have been, today
This becoming,the voiceless drift.
A soft touch never spills secret.
It brews it.
If music is the cupid of love
Let it rehearse itself,
Till we forget the tunes
How does it feels to be soundless,
While sitting next to you,
is the beginning of the end
and end of the beginning.
– Shashank Bhardwaj
there is a searing in my chest
as I shed this skin of
the coldest night of the year falls
as I remember when I felt cold with you –
solemn breaths of the sea
heaving against a ragged coast
Irish rain drowning the countryside
with the aching vigor of an old god
the black trees that spoke of loneliness
cliffs cloaked in the seduction of solitude
gray castle walls climbing towards the sky,
encircling us in cold medieval stone
when I was with you I felt everything
until nothing was left
you left me with piles of driftwood
hinting at the shipwreck below
like redrawing constellations
you erased me from the sky,
I discard your cruel revisions
and bury our goodbyes
– Shashank Bhardwaj
The sleep drowns us,
but not our desires.
In a gist of cold air,
we hide our warmth teasing each other.
My hands trace your bare back,
I hear your subtle moans, that
travel from the waist and chin
kissing your warm breath.
I trace every curve, every tip,
every flesh warm enough for my hands.
I cup your breasts, caress them, lick their desires stirring them to a brewed memory,
The clothes slowly shed themselves to the floor.
I feel my hands tracing my chest,
My nails piercing your navel and going way below between your legs,
We won’t stop for we are unaware,
of where would we stop,
or how to,
or simply why.
You drag me into an oblivion
of warm madness.