creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, Work from Home, Writings

Moonlight

you are most beautiful
when you sleep–
when the coffee-toned notes of your skin
brew a silent language.

while your lips are too tired to doubt my eyes
the dark mist of your breath trickles down my neck
I wait, staring unwaveringly.

outside there is a trail of rain,
drop by drop , this wind whispers
from the willow’s cage.

moonlight traverses the silence between us
every pause is sedimentary,

the longest distance between us tonight
is a raging river, its depth
a soft silver sea.

come : dissolve, disappear, dissociate,
a distance is only a measure,
when eyes can see.

when we submit ourselves
to absence of light :
these voices become unending images.

clouds, creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, poetry, Work from Home, Writings

Reverie

the moss by the window grows up
presumptuous contentment ferments itself.
This air is magically much lighter today
I remember this forgotten dream
where each rain drop
becomes a spiraling sigh of someone I knew.

Searching for my heart,
I scramble in linen white bedsheets,
my eyes rummage the room for a mirror
for this face must be a void :
an artist’s regretful hallucination
a dreamer’s revered loss.

We smile the best,
when the mind’s eye forgets the face.

I should settle for a second slumber
to grin like a Cheshire cat,
the sky turns murderous grey
a lovely occasion? Isn’t it?

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

Dream of you

Listen to me as one listens to the rain,
not attentive, not distracted,
light footsteps, thin drizzle,
water that is air, air that is time,
The day is still leaving
the night has yet to arrive,
figurations of mist
at the turn of the corner,
figurations of time
at the bend in this pause,
listen to me as one listens to the rain,
without listening, hear what I say
with eyes open inward, asleep
with all five senses awake,
it’s raining, light footsteps, a murmur of syllables.

air and water, words with no weight:
what we are and are,
the days and years, this moment,
weightless time and heavy sorrow,
listen to me as one listens to the rain,
wet asphalt is shining,
steam rises and walks away,
night unfolds and looks at me,
you are you and your body of steam,
you and your face of night,
you and your hair, unhurried lightning,
you cross the street and enter my forehead,
footsteps of water across my eyes,
listen to me as one listens to the rain,

creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Winter Oranges

You sit in the garden
swinging to and fro,
a shining sun
brilliant yellow with warmth
brightly painted oranges in your hand
or are they tangerines?
I do not know
for I was not invited
to this winter feast.

You sit with the others,
peals of laughter,
seeds of conversations
leak into my room somehow.
The pulp of the oranges
dripping from your lips
as you discard the peels
dulled by time
turning bitter and dry.

Let them fall to the dirty ground
uncared for and
unnecessary.
I forget their existence, the sun
and the warmth.

I remember us,
the pulp stained lips
and a thirst for never missing such feasts,
where your eyes inch this close to me.
where the breath turns citrus in unison.

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

creative-writing, dream, Poems, Poetry, poetry, Prose

Rotten Bones and Displaced Heart

There is no shame in choking the uneasiness
out of one’s sleep.

My larynx melts
when it is this dark.
The neck dissolves itself,
into a pool of subtle cold regrets

Silence drapes my bones
in a shroud of voiceless memories
rotting them, turning them
into the color of a fragile copper abandoned
in an unnamed graveyard.

It is basically a practice of perfection,
to death: the permanent sleep,
the unanswered question stabs
the unasked answer,
The god with no eyes and a displaced heart
just sighs.

– Shashank Bhardwaj

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

Famine

my existence floats
in a boat made up of dreams
over the turbulent seas of death.

the illusion of a charade.

the night’s scythe
cleaves my head:
blood with a famine of words
splatter all over the dusty bed-sheets.

The crucifixion of lies.

the boat trembles, seas rage.
With bleeding toes, my existence
inches towards the edges of insanity
laughing like a suicidal dog with
a growing distaste for chewed bones.

The Paradox of suffering.

I wait for an unheard laughter,
for the air to caress the wind chimes again.
It will all be over soon.
More the blood loss, deeper the ink to write with.

Don’t you think?

Writings to Heaven

Shashank Bhardwaj

Tag Archives: creative-writing