Category Archives: fiction and poetry

fiction and poetry

A Room with No Music

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?

SB

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

The Russian Parable

An area collapsing
into wise beards of giants,
Dostoevsky,Bunin,Tolstoy,Chekhov

Each, a decimation and integration
an oxymoronic existence,
mix life and death,
some unbearable winters,
some poverty
and tall glass of vodki,
you invent an utopia,
that is still alive in dusts
and pages.

a dream of winter, isn’t that easy:
Siberia is dying of touch of warmth
Petersburg is selling Vodki by it’s heartbeat.
Its still just old farms and innumerable counts.

Beautiful women still detested by beauty,
Brave men still abhorred by the truth,
Death still irritated by shallowness, we create,

I brisk past Moscow,
Kremlin is still the same,
my bones ache by the walk,
Never Invade Russia in winter?
One never remembers.

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

I wrote

I once wrote for others,

chaps so full of literature,

they would puke sonnets.

Women with legs

wearing beautiful stockings :

undiscovered ballets,

But they never read.

They were so full of themselves

and full of entitlement of life.

And I wasn’t full of myself anywhere,

anytime,

It took me a year of my life

to realize that

I won’t be full of myself

anytime soon.

You fuckers reading this.

Let me know,

When I’m Done.

with my writing.

Write a Memoir,

If you can,

You heartless fucks.

Shashank Bhardwaj

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beauty, creative-writing, dream, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Soliloquy’s Demise

My toes are always burdened,
the mirage of my own existence
hides with way I walk.

No, bright sun or cool breezes,
warm flames or chilling silences
can refill my chalice of purpose.

I have to keep drinking myself
till I am empty enough to flow,

There is no taste for longing,
Its just a weather my tongue never forgets.

We are all pieces of unfinished monologues,
laughing miserably with a blindfold,
remembering a perfect sleep.

– Shashank Bhardwaj

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