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

Touch

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.

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

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?

beauty, Death, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, think

Forget

I kiss every sparkle of light
with my dark pupils:

A river smelling of forgotten touches
can only be cold,
my blood can only hold a limit of warmth
in every dream,

A little more
and my heart shall melt,

like the sun who devoured fire,
just to forget,
the kiss of the seas.

beauty, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

Pebbles and Rain

It is quite obvious,
The way your tongue will feel
while reading this title:
slithering itself in a wet void.

Your nose now dreams of a petrichor,
The toes shall yearn for the wet grass.
Fingertips aching to scratch the moss
of the exiled pebbles somewhere,

How just a few words,
could tease your senses.

Yet you use a picture to interpolate
your creations

Why?

beauty, Death, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Price

A memory of your smell :
an enslavement, so clandestine.
It tunes my arteries to sing,
like the waves sing,
for purposes unknown.

I ebb away ,from this nonchalant madness
and turn into a moon-kissed star dust
wishing there were no sun or stars,

Cause I now abhor the lick of light.
It separates us unknowingly.
How come I still dream of you again?

At what cost?
At what price?

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

Sins of a Dreamer

I wanted to be real,
To be a rain in winters,
Whom they cannot despise,
love or forget,
to be a chaotic origin of resentment,
mysterious, magical and everything in between
and beyond.

I was a tofu once,
my liver poisoned by
daily savouring of pure alcohol of dreams,
It didn’t kill me then,
It didn’t kill me now.

Bring your hands and choke
the light within me,
Turn me into a grass spilled with fresh soaked blood,
turn me into a a galaxy of restlessness
with kisses of pause and serenity eloping madness.

I shall write all about it.
Till your eyes melt in dreams of forgetting me,
Again and again,
every night
You poor, dreamer of death.

dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Flood of Fire

I bred dreams
without copulation
and with a beserked reality.
The lights were just curtains
made of almonds, grass and rain.
I was still a myth,
a flesh tombstoned alive,
in a forest with no surreal taste for fire.
I counted the pigeons who flew without purpose,
I wasn’t righteous, I wasn’t maniacal
I was being fair
and that blows everybody’s mind.
I kissed my heart in a flood of fire,
It’s ashes still warm, still fire.
You don’t the live you get,
You inherit it from stars who can’t speak
and hence they say, destiny is blind
for my arms still live in a river of scorned ashes
Unable to see, with eyes dazzled with unending fire.

– Shashank Bhardwaj

Writings to Heaven

Shashank Bhardwaj

Category Archives: Heart