Category Archives: fiction and poetry

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

Sobriety

Subvert this pleasant poetic dominion
for its rivers follow an enchanting metric of curves,
held together by the invisible lips of its inhabitants.
I am just a brain-dead corpse, with a past unerased,
I like to be washed away on unknown shores,
to begin again.
Love,
is that what you sell?
well I don’t buy it.
Especially on the days, I am sober.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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

Think

To stop this yearning,
as it overflows,
I hold my moans,
in a room full of people.
It’s a meeting
people are bored,
and your tongue is unmoved
for I hold my moans.
Beneath the desk,
you keep swallowing,
quenching your thirst
licking at the tips
even the end of balls.
I feel your breasts
caressing it,
flowing with it.
The outpouring should be swallowed
unless and until
you can think of something else
that might be possible,
while you lay below my desk,
half-undressed
and totally wet.

© Shashank Bhardwaj.

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

Image

There were reasons.
These walls smelled of you,
The little sparrows lost their way.
A graveyard of flowers,
withered in silence.
Everything you touched,
had turned into an insoluble memory.

So I held my syllables,
I forgave the explanations.
I forgot the time.
For, If I whispered,
it will all be true.
You will be gone.
You will become something,
I cannot comprehend.
The absence will become an image.
For which, I believe,
I am not ready.
No one could ever be.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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

Crimson Sky

It’s the driest summer,
the toes do not talk to each other.
The sweat arches its voyage
through the moulded shoulders.
Every moment is a warm echo,
a syllable whispered out by a black tongue.
I drink the silence out of your lips
and my capillaries soak some fire.
Your hands are a paradox of existence,
that decipher my purpose slowly.
Take me to your darkest room,
turn me into a memory
that resurfaces every time
when you close your eyes.
Make me a rain,
that wipes a summer away.
A rain, in which you slowly cried.
This cessation from reality
is obvious but necessary too.
Like your love once was,
When I was your crimson sky.

– Shashank Bhardwaj

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

Sunsets

a crimson sky,
a blue horizon,
a careless troupe of albatrosses, yawning.
A voiceless master of the puppets,
feeding the salt in the air to its children.
an ownerless horse dreaming of grasslands,
a dog treading the unending shores,
a graveyard of the sand-castles,
without tombstones.

All patiently wait for the sunset.
It stays, I believe,
within each one of us.

One of the few things, the death
allows us to take with us.
Did you ever notice?

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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