Category Archives: Poetry

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

Longing

october-sunrise-hilton-head-bedford-shore-photography

Waves, the grieving mothers:
always keep coming back to the shores.
With a hope of being embraced
and held forever.

Alas!
But all I see is their exodus
beneath the beautiful crimson sky,
with salt in my breath,
and their unseen teary eyes.

They say, the sound of the ocean is lovely.
But what if it is a humongous melody of lament
conjured from the longing for its shores?

A homonym for the humans
wrapped in nature’s plight.

A dream fed to me
by the silence of the night.

A memory so wrong,
it now seems right.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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

The Language and the tongue

How hard would it be
to be made of flesh and be mortal,
to dream of all the tastes,
and go wet uncontrollably.

To lick your mirror image
in her mouth slowly,
and be satisfied in sometime,
but still, lack a dearth of reason,

to entwine
into a thousand unseen motions,
to caress the nothingness in air
and become understood in front
of all the living.

to be a tongue,
and be a language
and exist
but not noticed
ever.
How hard would it be?

 

© Shashank Bhardwaj

 

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

The Shadows of War

worldwar1somme-tl

I bait the lights
to recluse into darkness,
as I step again into a past
made of voiceless shadows.

If I look closely,
the shadows conjure images:
of a ruined city and orphaned children.

If I smell closely:
it all smells of gunpowder,
dried blood and unending screams.

and if I move closer:
I am in again in the war itself,
they never really end,
their shadows never disappear.

I have learned to live with them,
and they follow me,
wherever I go.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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

Measure

a thirst,
is the dryness that floats from the throat
is the snow that burns everything
is the fire without a crackling voice
is the river polluted with a meaningless existence
is the reality drinking bottles of dreams
is the death despised deeply
is the shadow unloved
is a blessing and a curse.
is the human, too much loved.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

 

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

Promised Children.

Dance to the frivolous melodies,
the time still remains.
We are still children,
sobered under the sun,
sobered by the rain.

A memory is a drop wiped away from the lips,
A potent taste was forgotten on purpose.

To become a child, forget your hands first.
The rain envelops the waves of time,
so learn to close your eyes,
long enough without sleeping
without drifting without crying
and the present will wash off itself
You will be on a ground,
with fresh wet grass,
Your dog still alive,
the cakes do not make you fat,
it’s beautiful,
as it should be,
as I was promised,
long ago.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

 

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

A Dream of Laughing Fishes

rainbow-trout-rosy-cheeks

I think I am back again
somewhere beneath a cold restless wave
where the smell of a forgotten regret lingers.

A thousand eyes map my dread
and serve it back to my face
with a voiceless discontent.

I swirl like a newborn,
till I forget the smell of the skies.
An embellishment for the stars
seeing me slip into an oblivion.

“One’s misery is a supper of pleasure for another”
my demented grandma used to blurt.

She loved eating fish
and now the fishes are laughing,
the limb-lacking unbearable slimy creatures,
are choked with laughter, over my unending dread.

“Kill a fish yourself, let its blood cleanse
your dreams.”
said the friendly psychiatrist.

the crazy fucker didn’t even know,
that it all began from there,
from those very struggling eyes
near to the gills.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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