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

Ritz by the Sea Shore

They served excellent crabs,
For they usually them boiled alive,
till their skin turned into fresh dark oranges.
Nothing tastes better than a submission ending without an ordeal.

Amidst the hullabaloo of the never closing cash counter, sun-baked foreigners awe over this never seen massacre.
The server, a lady of forty spews half broken greetings all over the table.
Her overnight dreams sweating from her eyebrows.
A mistake would be her beloved nightmare, soon.

I gulp down a dry martini and observe the horizon.
Beaches were always terrifying for me,
A place where I could drown and never be found.
Becoming a bitter aftertaste to my existence.

beauty, Death, dream, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Reasons

I cannot pass sentences,
for I am a city of dust and wreckage,
not abandoned but desolated.
Some of it dissolve in the terms as peace,
Nonchalantly.
I have tasted a valley of dust
with my tongue dried of elixirs of imagination,
Has anybody every told you that every dream
is a shivering icicle that tastes differently under a throat, used to a strange moaning at dawn.

I roam in shawl made of knitted regrets,
Ones with tongue that make my body perspire
in a heat of doomed past, my nipples are refuge of obedience, they disappear for the taste
lacking this irresistible warmth of winter.
I wish I could,
pass sentences,
and swallow cities.
I would have taken the a color of red,
Over whatever is left after dreaming a carnage.
Just to melt,

To disappear,
To be touched,
and caressed,
As all the dreams are reds,
the brights dissolved in darkest hues.

For those who stay up with no reason whatsoever.

beauty, Death, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Freehand Writing, Life, Poems, poetry, sadness

Rage

Every drag,
murders the symphony of silence.
I whiff off its ashes and turn this water
in the glass into a fluid cemetery.
The river of disgust now drowns my rage.
I throw it off in the sink and then whisk down the warm beer.

Turning off the lights, I wondered
how many more cigarettes do I need today
to burn this fucking world down.

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

Lament for the Untouched

How long can a butterfly with no wings
can retain its colour,

After how many touches would its fragile flesh
crumble to rust?

If only, rains were the nectar of amrut,
We would never be seen weeping near the ghats.

If only, the drought could make things disappear
I wouldn’t be preserving your ashes like this.

If only, my hands could forget raising you.
I would have dipped them in green all my life, for you.

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

Pointless

I was born out of a blood-bath
and will turn to dust someday,
I shall finally laugh voicelessly
while resting on a bed of fire.

The horizons shall still be untouched
their throats shall still bleed
as the sun sets in tired
by this never ending melancholy.
A thousand dogs shall still be homeless
their hopeful eyes still clueless

The men shall still be reckless,
The women shall still be remorseless,
The earth shall still be lifeless,
This cycle shall still be pointless.

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

An Abandoned School

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Caress the disfigured syllables gently,
a rain of bullets should not deprive
them from a veil of modesty.

I stand near the tombstones of shadows
in a graveyard of light; seeing voiceless gods
smile from broken mirrors.
Did they bleed faith? I cared not to check.

A delusional existence gone too far-that brought
men raging with guns and children whimpering
in terror together, in a room.

While both of them prayed silently
accepting their unfulfilled destiny.

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

Gates

Days worsen
as men leap onto me
in bodies riddled
with bullets
smelling of blood
shrieking mutely
eyes white
with a fear unfelt
the whole life
tongues desperate
for comforting lies
pleads for redemption
never comes out
of their silenced mouths
I silently pass on prayers
closing their eyes
to avoid seeing
the holy/unholy
gates they will
end up in their
afterlives.

Writings to Heaven

Shashank Bhardwaj

Tag Archives: Death