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

Macabre

A sky sculpted of silence,
At behest of a voiceless cry,
Somebody awaits my hymns again.

My tongue swirls itself :
A snake bathing in the burning blood.

The same nightmare again,
Where my veins smell of dead flowers.

The eyes turn into a vehement dark pond.
A feast of wingless ravens, slowly eating themselves to death :
My heart wasn’t that useful anyways.

Come close today , Stay.
Taste this macabre of my lips.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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Desire, fiction and poetry, Heart, india, Life, lost, pain, Poems, Poetry, think

Rush

A train passes me by like a bullet
People surround me like a swarm of bees
till I become one of them
Instituted and brain washed.
Riding the bullet
To places where my creativity succumbs
and brain acts like a fucker with no love involved
doing monotonic fucking periodic motions.
But Why?
Because we trust our feared heart more than our balls.

© Shashank Bhardwaj.

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Desire, fiction and poetry, Freehand Writing, Life, Memories, Poems, Poetry, Prose, Random thoughts, Shadow, Stories

Glass

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Every time I see the mirror,
I see a contrast of images,

I sometimes see,
a kid wandering in the world,
lost in thoughts,
willing to paint the world,
in canvas of words.

And sometimes,
a writer struggling for words,
to paint the world,
in canvas of never seen words,

But the glass,
is a deceiving perception,
it makes us see,
Either
What we don’t have,
or what we need,
never it shows,
the real me.

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Death, Help, Imagine, Prose, Random thoughts, Writings

Within

7_dark-room

Within me,
lies an irresistible urge,
a dark one indeed,
that would not fathom beauty,
nor the brave,
that consumes darkness,
that needs slaves,
that is biased,
that is superstitious,
that tells me things,
that makes me see void taking shapes,
it isn’t scary,
no it isn’t indeed,
when I showed,
the world where I lived,
it has been down there since,
cornered in the heart,
it refuses to come, even after it’s dark.

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