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

Actions

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.

beauty, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, Poems, poetry

Why

A black viscous river
adorned by the light of moonlight
Moves over your cheeks and neck,
an irresistible silk woven pack of hair,
dissolving the color of your eyes
But not the lips, wine red.
The arch of the chin meets shoulder
with the warm flesh intact and curved
Over your body.
It no mosaic or painting
But God’s idea of a natural painting.

The curves move as a tempting thirsty river
from your back to the sculpted arch of the waist,
every touch is a desirous attempt to moksha,
The bones still warm now, the heart still soft,
The straps refine the curve with its color unknown,
Caressing the soft mounds below the neck to the tapered waist and way below.
Do you imagine yourself this way?
Why not?

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

Forever

To write about you,
Is it to dream about a song.

The humming of your voice
Is a symphony sometimes.

Do you see my heart dancing
In all the flames you set within me?

Do you feel the warmth that sinks
Within me, as the echo of your voice

Slithers into my soul.
If you are the music,

Then teach me to dance,
Alone, unapologetically, forever.

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

All Life

I could help you out,
by an unhook, a tweeny move,
But who shall hold your wings then,
When the bra falls of the grounds
and the breasts turn to voluptuous beasts of touch.
The arch of the back shall intensify the visions
For a sword out of a sheath shines and tastes the brightest.
I could taste em, the edges of your sword made collarbone,
Promise you shall read my work for lifetime,
If i lost my tongue caressing your body

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

Tempation

The hair is tied and fixed,
its an abyss spread by your tips,
Its a veil that dropped
over your neck and the shoulders,
One could trace the curves of neck
And the collarbone with bare eyes,
with a hope of a dream though.
The lips are poignant and colorless,
That tempts the tongue to unthinkable pursuits,
The curve slips off like a fine bottle of sun kissed glass.
The bosoms and waist are sculpted of desires
draped in black
An ice cube would melt and jump off the way
Of your curves, kindled by your warmth.
Just think, what it would to my words,
When they touch your lips.
Brewing temptation in my ink.

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

Unforgiving Muses

Pristine as it could be,
The dark rivers bejeweled by a natural light,
Your hair gallops softly on the nurtured skin,
The eyes deep pool of unforgiving madness,
Rest over the supple cheeks.

The lips seem fed of a douse of pink tulips,
Float untouched as the chin sculpts to the fine curve of neck,
The back seems arched and curved at ends of imagination,
The curves hold itself draped in golden brightness.

So you are here to make me unlearn poetry
Or to be a poem that can be unlearned.

– Shashank Bhardwaj

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

A Cigaratte lit in Kashmir

‘Kaafir’, the one with ghastly eyes.
They treat me as if I was born in Pashtun(Afghanistan ) plains,
I have sowed this land with my trembling hand for letters,
This lake is now a void, a graveyard reciting my cursed smoked throat
They claw my identity and assassinate it with bullets that don’t even weep.
The blood soaks my bedsheet, I am a memory now for some,
that floats in ravines and clouded mornings.
Prejudice, Nationality? I hear the echoes with eyes shot red with unloving sleep.
I spit on your eyes but faint afterwards,
Why doesn’t my heart turns to black after smoking?