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.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
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.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
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?
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Every drag,
murders the symphony of silence.
I whiff off its ashes and turn this water
in the glass into a fluid cemetery.
The river of disgust now drowns my rage.
I throw it off in the sink and then whisk down the warm beer.
Turning off the lights, I wondered
how many more cigarettes do I need today
to burn this fucking world down.
© SB.
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?
© Shashank Bhardwaj
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.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Every drift
Is a cartilage bearing
the sins of a unbearable capillary
The sentences of no remorse
comes in forms.
A wild stag robbed of its skin,
over a snow that even melts eyeballs,
tells me of a impatient mind.
Broken chateau glasses in season of fall
with no stains of warm blood over floor,
tells of wrath, that puked out of a heart dying of collapsing walls of insecurity
A man observing both, in vortex of time
Is stuck as a blob of ice feeling,
not knowing when to melt and when to burn.
A peace he cannot drink or spit
But bear with his actions.
© Shashank
Writings to Heaven 