beauty, Drinks, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

In Warmth

With your laced clothing,
you resplend an aura
that smells of lust and raging whiskey,

the ice fed hands trace your fragile
and sensitive breasts, as you unhook your bra.
With my warm tongue, I lick the chocolate over your pointed nipples.
You caress your fingers with the water between your legs.

I tear away your black panties,
and I am sure you wished for the sooner of it.
I come inside you, inside us
as we tremble as terrified horses
riding in the storm, embracing and feasting
on one another.

Your hips turn warm,
The legs go tired,
we climax in each other arms
and wait to begin again,
in the sunlight, we escaped from.

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

Swim Away – I

I still remember
the way you swam away,
wriggling out of your clothes,
I could see your wet breasts,
with the tips still drowned in drops.
You took my hand between your legs,
and whispered me to begin my art
of dissolving your shyness into thousand
moans of madness.
The tips turned dry, begging me to lick their
shame of existence away.
I worked through them, I worked below you too.
I sculpted a river of ecstacy within you,
and you went through all, by letting our tongues
mute our lives for sometimes.

The silence, we could still hear.
The silence, we can never forget.

© 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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