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

Deciphering a Red Silence.

Every ray of sunlight,
is a drop of warmth
melted by god’s eyes

You, a silver mirror,
That can glitter my hand even in the darkness,
as if a thousand ants enjoying a living feast,
for their heart’s are as restless as a lover’s hunger for voice.

In my dreams, each night,
Someone cleaves the sky with no voice.
It becomes a darkroom where I fumble with trembling hands,
my memories dipped in a pool of questions,
like a photograph being developed in a room full of darkest red wines.

I wake up to a room devoid of light,
wishing to be in a subway where no one cares for your existence if you have learned to forget your hands.
I sleep wishing the subway leads to nowhere.
A silence is a powerful noise,
When shall our ears act like our eyes?

– Shashank Bhardwaj

Desire, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

Voyage – I

You went into the sea at dawn.
And made a necklace out of the voyage,
Nobody knew whether your were a mermaid,
A sea goddess or the beauty obsessed with the shores of the sea.
But I didn’t think twice, before breaking that necklace with my fingers.
Just to touch your lips,
Just to imagine,
What could I have done,
To taste your tongue.
To drown in your eyes,
I voyaged voicelessly into the sea beneath your legs.
They say, your eyes had story to tell
But I tasted them slowly in the deep blue darkness
It was tempting,
To witness your fair and subtle flesh,
I wanted to touch every inch of it,
But I was told that dreams disappear with
a laugh,
So I waited for you to sleep
and my hands knew what to do as you drifted away.
I traced your collarbone,
an arched sculpture of desire,
Till my lips forgot what it meant to kiss,
For I have never tasted blood or had the craving for so,
They went below to the waist, to feel the curves that smell like the fresh dawn and tempted me
Like a nonchalant dreamer,
From the waist , you drove my fingers to the breasts,
and turned me addicted to touch.
Just don’t stop. Now
Does it tickle or you forget everything?
As the fingers trace from the neck
To the end of the cleavage,
The unbuttoning of your shirt
Is there a mystery as the bra awaits its place on floor,
If only we could stop our lips
And pray to the heaven,
To not to make their flesh running
With the blood of desire. .

beauty, creative-writing, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love, poetry, Writings

A Cloud’s Alms

The wood savours its taste
Of the tasteless liquid.
Fireplace dreams
of its malignant kingdom
In the heavy cold downpour

I, rise as a sparrow,
To drench my non existent feathers.
My eyes dilate and reverberate
as a nonchalant child seeking
an incomprehensible vision.

The trees are showering,
Land is drowned in its brown ashes,
My dog peeks at the drops by the window.
His tongue is restless as my heart.

To stay, indoors
And bear the longing
Of this cold touch.

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

Teach

The curves begin to melt,
Its astounding we remember
Everything we touch.
So your memory is a trace of fingertips,
From the callous neck, to the sculpted collar bones, you are a like a hidden lake in an island forgotten, where I dip to forget myself,
The curves extrapolate like rays of sunlight never knowing why,
From the breasts to the fine arch of the back,
Everything dissolves again and again,
My hands aren’t wet with your touch?
Are you really what they call as magic?

For my hands disappear within you,
Tracing every tips without whispering you,
Touching everywhere without telling you?
Making it a dream, with dreaming you,
Do you feel it all, or should I be dissolving you?
Not by touch, not by shyness
But by a pool of shyness and leaving you?
I never knew how to withdraw, so the dress is leaving you?
Maniacal? Sensuous? Are you mad?
All sound same. While your eyes teach you.

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

Thousand Leagues of Sea

Salt, bitter like fumes,
of a fire built of nostalgic warmth,
cures my homesickness.

I am again a toddler,
eyes blue as a turbulent sea.
Waving the currents
an untouchable goodbye.

A blank maritime flag,
holds a thousand words
dipped in indecipherable voices.

The language of longing,
Yet to be invented.

– SB

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.

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?

Writings to Heaven

Shashank Bhardwaj

Category Archives: Writings