Pour it all
and spread it slowly
with your bare hands,
this cream isn’t that sweet
but you are gonna like it anyway,
so come and swallow it
as you suck me out,
and I close my eyes.
Take it all in,
let me feel the saliva mix
with the cream and melt.
Go on at your pace,
I can wait, in darkness,
all night, all day,
just don’t stop in between,
tonight.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Have I told you lately?
Of how I trace your scent
every time it rains violently.
This very ground trembles today,
nonchalant to our unending sighs.
We were the two inescapable shadows,
now we drift away from each other
into an incomprehensible darkness.
On this edge of dissolution,
a mere push of time,
dissolves us as intangible memories.
This air, drenched in regret
wraps us in a blanket of past,
to let us abandon our beginnings,
as a feast for this immoral rain.
Our hands caress the untouched remains.
We forget the skies and the cold water
trickling down our backs.
In a blink, we finally become
the smell of the earth,
after the rain, that is always full of love,
but no one knows why.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
It begins with
a melodious blur
as a taste of forgetfulness slithers
over my humble skin.
A yearning evolves slowly,
to disappear away
from this meaningless pursuit of flesh,
we are trapped by our existence
and nothing else.
I trespass within myself,
in search of a purpose,
in the hidden sanctums of my delusion,
where blues waves greet my feet,
and the sky made of ice
howls with terrible winds, at my timidity.
It never rains,
But I always forget to stride aimlessly,
these hungry eyes are served
with sumptuous visions,
and till my hands bleed
this hallucination copulates
with my reality.
I finally learn to float
within myself.
I pen all of it down,
in the night
and call them as Art
in the morning.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Art Credits – Delusion by Dorina Costras
Last night, I sojourned in the warm fields
of cherry blossom, letting my silence convolve
with the voiceless dreams.
I cried in a language, I never heard.
In the memory of my voice, absconding
for quite a few days. Leaving only regretful notes,
of unending sabbaticals.
Nature never speaks, I observed.
It just pours a volume of voices from its belly,
into a pot full of colors, to melt and coalesce eventually,
for our eyes to fathom in silence.
So the next time, we lie on the bed,
don’t speak, just observe all of my colors
as I trace the aching fan above, dying out slowly,
similarly.
Whisper to me then slowly, if you wish.
of how does the grey mix in the volumes of smiles bright?
and yet is not loud enough, for us to tremble and dissolve
in one another, painting our silence
into an unspeakable color of love.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
My words were glass
for 14 days.
they shattered over papers
and metallic typewriters,
even on those,
warm as sun-bathed honey.
I somehow learned to arrange
the broken brights.
Let me know, if you can
see yourself in them.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Back from the first long writer’s break, was totally buried in work. It’s time to be back to writing again. 🙂
Fear flows sometimes
and spurts on some days
out from the warm orifices
in the sleep-deprived sweat glands.
A thirst ridden tongue
has a memory of its own.
It dreams of the dirt
and the sweet hymns of an unending rain.
The flag still hangs on my wall
but they keep washing out blood from it.
My hands are tired of holding the bodies I cannot touch.
Another celestial rotation, a swirl of nothingness :
They have made me a man full of unwritten elegies,
who stares into the abyss rhyming a voiceless song of grief.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Corroded decisions,
accumulated as a incompetence in disguise.
Cooked over immature fires
of unfortunate desires.
We are a byproduct of this world,
not promised to anyone.
A flower; crushed.
A voice dawned.
Too early.
We are the last of us.
Unheard, unseen,
the perplexities of our nails
are full of dirt, of truth and fire,
they still haunt the afternoons
in vivid brights.
We chose to surrender
in an aftermath, we cannot smell.
forget the visions now.
Welcome to darkness,
take your shoes off, please.
Writings to Heaven 