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, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Poems, Poetry



My hair kisses my nose sometimes
Its unruly in every sense, I agree.
to hold a whiff of air without its permission,
to be unhinged at the tips,
to become a dark wave of freedom
in the afternoon light.

The longest distant star from Earth is 5 billion light-years away,
I read last night.
They brought him closer to me by naming it Icarus.
Does it still dreams of kissing the sun?

The longest distance I have ever walked,
was between a beautiful never-ending dream
to an obvious ominous reality,
because you could never tell if you have arrived or not.
I should have used my legs for same,
for they could have told me to stop in between.

The hardest pain is the one you can never touch,
It just flows as a river and takes you away.
Even if you close your eyes, you will still be wet.
Even if you swim away, you will still be wet.
Even if you drown, they will find you, still wet.

So why not just put your hair down,
and float to the abyss?

© Shashank Bhardwaj

Pic Credits – Alban Grosdidier

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

A Dream of Laughing Fishes


I think I am back again
somewhere beneath a cold restless wave
where the smell of a forgotten regret lingers.

A thousand eyes map my dread
and serve it back to my face
with a voiceless discontent.

I swirl like a newborn,
till I forget the smell of the skies.
An embellishment for the stars
seeing me slip into an oblivion.

“One’s misery is a supper of pleasure for another”
my demented grandma used to blurt.

She loved eating fish
and now the fishes are laughing,
the limb-lacking unbearable slimy creatures,
are choked with laughter, over my unending dread.

“Kill a fish yourself, let its blood cleanse
your dreams.”
said the friendly psychiatrist.

the crazy fucker didn’t even know,
that it all began from there,
from those very struggling eyes
near to the gills.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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

Tryst with Myself


I was cuddled up in a sheet that day,
watching the raindrops trace on my reflection,
on the dusty window.
A sound of a drop reverberated more
than the ghastly silence.
In a few minutes, the dust melted away.
The sky wasn’t bright, neither was it dark.
It was an essential gray, promising of a tempting void
that smelled of a fresh petrichor
and a floor made of broken glasses
that has forgotten to bleed the flesh.

I fed my everlasting reflections
to these broken mirrors
till the floor smelled of my debauchery
of selling facades of appeasement

I made a tryst with myself,
to be brutally honest
to my purpose on this planet.

And so, here am I,
abiding the tryst,
It’s the mellow beginning.
A warm end awaits, I believe.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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

Layers of Dissent


The reprisal of birth of light
weakens the cohesion
of condescending layers of dissent
in humanity.

deciphering a silence is an art.

Come morning
you look forward to a meaningless hymn,
cheap liquor and loud chaos :
retribution for your forsaken originality,
last seen in mirrors made of darkness.

isolation is a gift for few.

Come night
you expect tidiness in palaces made of dust,
gods weeping in your arms and a silence
that walks itself out :
a new layer forged in the absence of light;
no exit music for waiting dreams.


© Shashank Bhardwaj