creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Imagine, Life, Poems, poetry

Whitest white

Blood soaked ribs, smoked to death,
draped over with velvety violet,
over the mahogany dripping table.
The sunlight prays to mate with this smell,

Come, child, tell me
When was the last time
you smelled light and travelled through time?

When was the last time
you tasted an abyss and it was sweeter than
the wind that flows in a thousand valleys
all drenched in rain.

The laundry box looks like it has been shot
twice, a fucking mess, its internals,
your second skin is all over the floor.

But you pick up the whitest white and head
to the room with no sunlight, no smell,
no eyes.


© Shashank Bhardwaj

Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Imagine, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, poetry, Writings

An Ode to the Bed

possible dreams,
possible nightmares,
the breakfast for the next day,
a compliment,
a death stare,
More Beer
Wars, Ghosts,
The Reaper,
The Good Looking Reaper
black coffee,
morning run,
the old gods,
the new gods,
no gods,
Machu Picchu,
Snow In India,
Rain in Columbia,
Possible Sex,
Dream Sex,
A lot of Sex,
A lot of disappointment,
A dream of success,
A Whole New Life,
Songs to listen next day,

A very minute collection of Imaginations and
thoughts over the course when I lie on the bed
until the sleep comes in.
Disciplined, Careless, Inspiring,
Lazy, Poetic, Dramatic, the various
hues and after-effects of this bed.

It conjures a thousand more within me.
So this is an Ode to the Bed.
The warm haven of my creativity and my destruction.

What do you think while in Bed, Let me know too 🙂

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

At Last – Ballad.

The Mirrors tremble by the winds,
the beginning of the ends draw near,
with footsteps, she slithers in the mansion
lighting all the beautiful chandeliers.

A hymn echoes out of nowhere
and my bones now shiver with dread.
For I do not see even a shadow in sight
But I do smell her lips crome-red.

I pray to all the gods,
the very ones, I once disavowed.
For a death that would be a blessing,
for the heart that was once too proud.

Lightning pierces the dry bark of the trees,
the fire leaves the poor animals aghast,
She laughs at me finally in a veil of white terror,
and I meet her in this afterlife at last.

dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Imagine, Life, Poems, poetry, Prose

Stagnant Waters

It is that time of week,
when our meaningless pursuits
drown in beer and single malts.

Our shadows retire besides us
tired of walking on overdoses of caffeine
and monotony.

The tires rest while the toes

Even in this restless summer,
you somehow remember the fire hearth,
within your heart when you were young.

Exit Doors closed with regrets.
The waves are not beautiful.
The fear of death tastes nothing like ice.

A miserable mixture of cheap gin and tonic, that is a straight gulp of unending silence would feel like.

You are in the stagnant waters now,
don’t forget to swim.