Category Archives: fiction and poetry

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

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

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fiction and poetry

Application of Rejection

I submit and resubmit, wait in a queue with my eyes closed, the winter creeps in, slowing the process, the drink caves in , slowing the process , services are still affected , the heart still awaits a resolution, its not a ‘it happens’ or ‘shall stop’ anymore. It is a flood of memories I guess that I am trying to stop by drowning, the oxygen shall deplete to unacceptable values one day or the other, it shall fuse the long winter in me soon. Help me, as nobody can , the rejection is a sweet pain to understand. 8 dreams gone by, a lot in the queue. My heart turned to an office of government, overthrow it now for once. Contact the department of dreams , submit an application of overflowing dreams . Let me know if someone did and was happy in the end, without being summoned by the department of love.

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Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Poems, poetry

Deciphering a Red Silence

Every ray of sunlight,

is a drop of warmth

melted by god’s eyes

You, a silver mirror,

That can glitter my hand even in the darkness,

as if a thousand ants enjoying a living feast,

for their heart’s are as restless as a lover’s hunger for voice.

In my dreams, each night,

Someone cleaves the sky with no voice.

It becomes a darkroom where I fumble with trembling hands,

my memories dipped in a pool of questions,

like a photograph being developed in a room full of darkest red wines.

I wake up to a room devoid of light,

wishing to be in a subway where no one cares for your existence if you have learned to forget your hands.

I sleep wishing the subway leads to nowhere.

A silence is a powerful noise,

When shall our ears act like our eyes?

– Shashank Bhardwaj

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beauty, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

The Swan with Brown eyes.

She doesn’t float,
but the water and the world around her move
to justify her movements.

I observe bleakly, like a child observing snow.
Those brown eyes, the red beak.
of how could it exist:
In a timeline,In our timelines,
We briefly intersect each other’s life
and now she is inside my head with those eyes.

The nights turn to days,
the days turn to sentences.
I greet her everyday.
She becomes a prayer for an atheist.
A Song for the voiceless.
A Dance for crippled.

Would she be thinking same?
as I observe her even now?
Why?
Why not?

Is this a swan song?
Let her answer all.
Let her answer none.
The eyes speak for those who have learn to observe.
Let me observe.

SB

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Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Poems, poetry

I

I want to hear your impatient moans
everytime I feel your skin with my tongue,
For I am blind to it’s contours and surfaces,
My hands only tends to the voices of flesh,
I silence the desires with my fingers
Till they become wet or tired,
Or pleasantly both.

I start by your neck, licking the flesh,
Tasting its warmth, the shirt unbuttons,
As my fingers slither inside,
Pressing your breasts, caressing them slowly
You let out a moan and bite me on neck.
I hold you so close, to begin with

The buttons break, the hands slide in,
I caress the breasts, feeling the nipples
They are bound to be erect, telling my fingers
To lick them slowly, to unhook and taste them.

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