If all the beauty in the world
ceases to exist someday,
You would still be the unwritten poem for me,
The one I could never finish.
For I fear, that if I do so,
You would be lost forever in this world,
in the unseen books and the untouched pages
and in the hands of all those admirers,
whose fingertips have forgotten,
the art of patience.
What is it?
That draws a knife through the heart?
Is it the separation between them?
The anonymity brewing between them?
The pause of decisions?
The thousand veins that weigh down the feeble heart?
The slithering silver edges tasting of unforgotten dreams ?
You need to draw it once.
The curse of repetition
begins with an imperfect try.
Be brave enough,
Not for the blood,
Not for the teared arteries,
Not for the sun that never sets on
the red river for forgiveness.
But for the silence
That follows.
Revere, this blessed silence,
For I shall slip into your thoughts
once again, but this time
without a face or voice.
Contemplate the cause
For every bone tickles a question
when the sky is this dark,
’A pang of heart’ was a fool’s discovery.
For he ignores every vision that might be real,
For him the water is still full of air,
and the air still full of hope.
Before the drowning begins with his foolish steps
the dissonance muffles down slowly
choking the sweet breath, as promised
– Shashank Bhardwaj
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
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
You went into the sea at dawn.
And made a necklace out of the voyage,
Nobody knew whether your were a mermaid,
A sea goddess or the beauty obsessed with the shores of the sea.
But I didn’t think twice, before breaking that necklace with my fingers.
Just to touch your lips,
Just to imagine,
What could I have done,
To taste your tongue.
To drown in your eyes,
I voyaged voicelessly into the sea beneath your legs.
They say, your eyes had story to tell
But I tasted them slowly in the deep blue darkness
It was tempting,
To witness your fair and subtle flesh,
I wanted to touch every inch of it,
But I was told that dreams disappear with
a laugh,
So I waited for you to sleep
and my hands knew what to do as you drifted away.
I traced your collarbone,
an arched sculpture of desire,
Till my lips forgot what it meant to kiss,
For I have never tasted blood or had the craving for so,
They went below to the waist, to feel the curves that smell like the fresh dawn and tempted me
Like a nonchalant dreamer,
From the waist , you drove my fingers to the breasts,
and turned me addicted to touch.
Just don’t stop. Now
Does it tickle or you forget everything?
As the fingers trace from the neck
To the end of the cleavage,
The unbuttoning of your shirt
Is there a mystery as the bra awaits its place on floor,
If only we could stop our lips
And pray to the heaven,
To not to make their flesh running
With the blood of desire. .
© Shashank Bhardwaj
I could help you out,
by an unhook, a tweeny move,
But who shall hold your wings then,
When the bra falls of the grounds
and the breasts turn to voluptuous beasts of touch.
The arch of the back shall intensify the visions
For a sword out of a sheath shines and tastes the brightest.
I could taste em, the edges of your sword made collarbone,
Promise you shall read my work for lifetime,
If i lost my tongue caressing your body
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Writings to Heaven 