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, dream, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Reasons

I cannot pass sentences,
for I am a city of dust and wreckage,
not abandoned but desolated.
Some of it dissolve in the terms as peace,
Nonchalantly.
I have tasted a valley of dust
with my tongue dried of elixirs of imagination,
Has anybody every told you that every dream
is a shivering icicle that tastes differently under a throat, used to a strange moaning at dawn.

I roam in shawl made of knitted regrets,
Ones with tongue that make my body perspire
in a heat of doomed past, my nipples are refuge of obedience, they disappear for the taste
lacking this irresistible warmth of winter.
I wish I could,
pass sentences,
and swallow cities.
I would have taken the a color of red,
Over whatever is left after dreaming a carnage.
Just to melt,

To disappear,
To be touched,
and caressed,
As all the dreams are reds,
the brights dissolved in darkest hues.

For those who stay up with no reason whatsoever.

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.

creative-writing, Death, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

The Girl with the Ouija Board

Dark sinister whisperings
rouse my soul up,
‘Every Tongue has a demon
buried within its veins, for
it gives birth to thirst,
lust and blood.’
She told me before sleeping,

Archaic hymns, butchered lemons
drowned in vinegar, disappeared behind
a mist of lavender smelling candles,
apexed at pentagram made of saffron

I feel her curves turn cold,
the lips turn ominously black,
‘Eyes are windows to this world,
darkness is the passage to all other’
she keeps murmuring,holding my hand
till it is not she anymore.

I could sense it the way my hands are touched,
the way she removes her clothes then
and the way she kisses.
She never told her of her fetishes
and now I can’t even ask.

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?

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

Macabre

A sky sculpted of silence,
At behest of a voiceless cry,
Somebody awaits my hymns again.

My tongue swirls itself :
A snake bathing in the burning blood.

The same nightmare again,
Where my veins smell of dead flowers.

The eyes turn into a vehement dark pond.
A feast of wingless ravens, slowly eating themselves to death :
My heart wasn’t that useful anyways.

Come close today , Stay.
Taste this macabre of my lips.

Writings to Heaven

Shashank Bhardwaj

Category Archives: Love