Category Archives: Poetry

beauty, creative-writing, Death, Desire, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Poems, Poetry

An Ode to Dying Winter

What is this heart?
if not a emotion driven by a flood of questions?
I lay shirtless in an unknown darkness,
Somebody robbed me of a known darkness,

Every nerve has a memory
Hence, I have no words to describe winter,
It reminds me of months of change,
It now reminds me to assess of the change.

There are no pomegranates or apples in my gardens,
It is just the ice soaked grass,
my toes hurt when I trespass my property.
For what?
I cannot change the end of winter,
If Winter was here, can Spring be far behind?

Nobody should ever listen to the aches of comfort,
of a winter of campfire and whiskey
You get used to it slowly,
Now the bottles are empty,
Some broken,
Some lost.

I wait in the edge of a land of disappearing snow,
thinking was it all worth it?
Yes it was.
Somebody tell my heart once again.This.
Please.

– SB

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beauty, Fiction & Poetry, Love, Poems, Poetry

A Fixation

An orange bliss breaks billowing :
the blue evening, passing out,
choked by warm hands colored in flames.

Witness the sky
tying this blue brightness consensually,
behind it’s cloud back.
Sea dipped fingers feeling the warmth closing in,
as flames tease the air around, with uneven breaths.
Maybe this is how, It rains in winter.

a little skewness, such as this,
shames the clear ponds
and the monuments still glistening
with untouched marble
bearing the tasteful reflection.

But I sit aghast,
and perplexed over such a fixation.
The nights shall be a little difficult :
dreaming of soft ropes,
of slowly kissing the haunting eyes.

– Shashank Bhardwaj

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

A low voice and a blanket of memories

The stars become cold,
It rained last night.
The shiver kills every beauty:
Stay, do not move,
do not use your hair.
You are a symmetry now,
I am a blindfolded architect,
Let me trace your heart tonight.

My blanket has dreamed more than me,
It sees an ocean of blue at times,
to drown itself, at least once:
Warm bodies are always vulnerable,
They leave you at the sign of cold.
Or when the inhabitants are warm enough.
All relationships are paradoxical,
Just fail once, you will learn.

The skies cry for the seas.
The waves tremble to mate the sky.
The horizon is a red illusion.
We shall meet and not meet.
We shall dream and not.

Tell me, label us once as something?
or not?

Because once you label us,
we will disappear,
into things we can’t control.
Free fall into me.
Once.

You won’t regret it.

 
Promise?

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beauty, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry

Our Symmetries

How often does your tongue teases you
for the words never spoken to me?

How often does your eyes tremble in dreams,
while a familiar shadow whispers my silent goodbyes.

How often does your fingertips ache to trace my eyes and lips
leaving an inch of air, for the sanity of this merciless world?

How often does you smile kisses the dawn
while my names echoes within you like a sweet poison?

How Often? Tell me, do our symmetries meet
and seperate, like the restless blood and the unstoppable heart?

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

Developing a Distaste

It is easier to develop a distaste
for it lingers even when the tongue goes dry.

But it is way harder to swallow it,
once it develops.

Look around for God sake,
This torrid heat was enough
to rip our faces off,
into unsolvable remains.

It should have been enough
to scream with no eyes, towards the blistering light
while seeking redemption from a homeless god.

The cities were still swirling;
like Gorgeous Prima Ballerinas,
banking their toes,blindfolded.
Waiting for a thunderous applause
from its inhabitants:
Like a disease seeking a moving eulogy
from a terminal patient.

We still clung to our little lies,
sleeping soundly in the brisk false air,
ignoring the heat, people
and mirrors

and calling it a day.

 

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

Sins of a Dreamer

I wanted to be real,
To be a rain in winters,
Whom they cannot despise,
love or forget,
to be a chaotic origin of resentment,
mysterious, magical and everything in between
and beyond.

I was a tofu once,
my liver poisoned by
daily savouring of pure alcohol of dreams,
It didn’t kill me then,
It didn’t kill me now.

Bring your hands and choke
the light within me,
Turn me into a grass spilled with fresh soaked blood,
turn me into a a galaxy of restlessness
with kisses of pause and serenity eloping madness.

I shall write all about it.
Till your eyes melt in dreams of forgetting me,
Again and again,
every night
You poor, dreamer of death.

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

Taste of Gold

This Dusk, with its violet lips
slithers in from the windows

It rescues my reclused face
with a knife made up of light
and cold bones:
The eyes are dissolved
in a jar of warm red blood.
to cleanse any memory
of unwanted colours.

I remember when you left, that afternoon
like a rainbow disappears in the untouched mist.
I have been filleting that image
with my nails, now worn out.

But all I get is the taste of bitter gold,
over my tongue and dreams of red autumn
in my sleep.

 

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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