Category Archives: Heart

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

The Smell of Hunger

I lit my sins,
with uneven puffs.

This four legged famished beauty,
Whimpers at my arrival.

The cost of redemption for tonight,
is just a Parle-G costing 5.

His dusted eyes chews my innocence,
I tremble with an alcohol choked breath

I search for my wallet :
While my inherent identity made of coins gets molested by a bark from stomach.

His nose has evolved a knack for sniffing the midnight deluded from the crowd
He savors the feast of the road while his tail wags.

My sins eviscerate in every dreams I have.
But I had fed a dog, Couldn’t it be better?

Than smelling his hunger and seeing him disappear
I have become, what I have always feared.

A god who sends rain
and drowns those get too close.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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

Tempation

The hair is tied and fixed,
its an abyss spread by your tips,
Its a veil that dropped
over your neck and the shoulders,
One could trace the curves of neck
And the collarbone with bare eyes,
with a hope of a dream though.
The lips are poignant and colorless,
That tempts the tongue to unthinkable pursuits,
The curve slips off like a fine bottle of sun kissed glass.
The bosoms and waist are sculpted of desires
draped in black
An ice cube would melt and jump off the way
Of your curves, kindled by your warmth.
Just think, what it would to my words,
When they touch your lips.
Brewing temptation in my ink.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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beauty, creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

A Cigaratte lit in Kashmir

‘Kaafir’, the one with ghastly eyes.
They treat me as if I was born in Pashtun(Afghanistan ) plains,
I have sowed this land with my trembling hand for letters,
This lake is now a void, a graveyard reciting my cursed smoked throat
They claw my identity and assassinate it with bullets that don’t even weep.
The blood soaks my bedsheet, I am a memory now for some,
that floats in ravines and clouded mornings.
Prejudice, Nationality? I hear the echoes with eyes shot red with unloving sleep.
I spit on your eyes but faint afterwards,
Why doesn’t my heart turns to black after smoking?

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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beauty, creative-writing, Death, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

Teach

The curves begin to melt,
Its astounding we remember
Everything we touch.
So your memory is a trace of fingertips,
From the callous neck, to the sculpted collar bones, you are a like a hidden lake in an island forgotten, where I dip to forget myself,
The curves extrapolate like rays of sunlight never knowing why,
From the breasts to the fine arch of the back,
Everything dissolves again and again,
My hands aren’t wet with your touch?
Are you really what they call as magic?

For my hands disappear within you,
Tracing every tips without whispering you,
Touching everywhere without telling you?
Making it a dream, with dreaming you,
Do you feel it all, or should I be dissolving you?
Not by touch, not by shyness
But by a pool of shyness and leaving you?
I never knew how to withdraw, so the dress is leaving you?
Maniacal? Sensuous? Are you mad?
All sound same. While your eyes teach you.

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beauty, creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Ritz by the Sea Shore

They served excellent crabs,
For they usually them boiled alive,
till their skin turned into fresh dark oranges.
Nothing tastes better than a submission ending without an ordeal.

Amidst the hullabaloo of the never closing cash counter, sun-baked foreigners awe over this never seen massacre.
The server, a lady of forty spews half broken greetings all over the table.
Her overnight dreams sweating from her eyebrows.
A mistake would be her beloved nightmare, soon.

I gulp down a dry martini and observe the horizon.
Beaches were always terrifying for me,
A place where I could drown and never be found.
Becoming a bitter aftertaste to my existence.

SB

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

Developing a Distaste

It is easier to develop a distaste
for it lingers even when the tongue goes dry.

But it is way harder to swallow it,
once it develops.

Look around for God sake,
This torrid heat was enough
to rip our faces off,
into unsolvable remains.

It should have been enough
to scream with no eyes, towards the blistering light
while seeking redemption from a homeless god.

The cities were still swirling;
like Gorgeous Prima Ballerinas,
banking their toes,blindfolded.
Waiting for a thunderous applause
from its inhabitants:
Like a disease seeking a moving eulogy
from a terminal patient.

We still clung to our little lies,
sleeping soundly in the brisk false air,
ignoring the heat, people
and mirrors

and calling it a day.

 

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beauty, creative-writing, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, think

Swallowing Sabbaticals

Warmth is a long sedimentary pause,
sip it,slowly,
through eyes that have learned
the craft of forgetting.

Too much of an interlude
and the spaces around you
start spewing nostalgic visions.

The Sabbaticals turn to never ending
regrets.
I turn to a normality I feared:
A morning in April with no rain.

I should have woken up,
when It was winter,
and my heart still booming
with the summer’s dream

– Shashank Bhardwaj

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