Fill me up to the brim :
With a dream made up of your voice.
So when the silence finally descends,
at the dead of the night,
I could trace you once again,
like a painter does.
With his bare hands.
Just whisper, when?
Don’t ask why.
Utopia
Tag Archives: Fiction-Poetry; Poetry
Dissonance
Revere, this blessed silence,
For I shall slip into your thoughts
once again, but this time,
without a face or voice.
Contemplate the cause,
For every bone
tickles a question
when the sky is this dark,
‘A pang of heart’ was a fool’s discovery,
For he ignores every vision that might be real,
For him the water is still full of air,
and the air still full of hope.
Before the drowning begins with his foolish steps, the dissonance muffles down slowly, choking the sweet breath, as promised
Convalescence
An unsettling deciphers
a state of silence :
When every mirror sells illusion,
How can you trust a pair of dreamy eyes?
A stoic whimper,
A mist that smells like the sun,
A kiss that compels of it’s origin,
Carry all of them till the day of reckoning.
You never know, when you shall be healed,
A rebirth is just a meaningless smile away.
Isn’t it?
SB
Heartless
The tongue is heartless servant, it slithers on your neck and lips, like a snake devoid of warm flesh, I feel the warmth and the tremble in cleavage, but I am cursed as in Eden.
It smothers the bra slowly, peeking within with satanic eyes, the warmth is a thirst for a thing made of out flesh, it multiples while inside, caressing, pressing, Disappearing with eyes,
Your breath is a kiss of blaze burning and I was a winter worth nurturing with hands choking my existence
The breasts caressed slowly, into a tumultuous moment of touch, I trace the tips to its origin, feeling them erect and ready for to pleased, unhook now and lie down, let me taste the eden before being banished forever.
All Life
I could help you out,
by an unhook, a tweeny move,
But who shall hold your wings then,
When the bra falls of the grounds
and the breasts turn to voluptuous beasts of touch.
The arch of the back shall intensify the visions
For a sword out of a sheath shines and tastes the brightest.
I could taste em, the edges of your sword made collarbone,
Promise you shall read my work for lifetime,
If i lost my tongue caressing your body
A Cigaratte lit in Kashmir
‘Kaafir’, the one with ghastly eyes.
They treat me as if I was born in Pashtun(Afghanistan ) plains,
I have sowed this land with my trembling hand for letters,
This lake is now a void, a graveyard reciting my cursed smoked throat
They claw my identity and assassinate it with bullets that don’t even weep.
The blood soaks my bedsheet, I am a memory now for some,
that floats in ravines and clouded mornings.
Prejudice, Nationality? I hear the echoes with eyes shot red with unloving sleep.
I spit on your eyes but faint afterwards,
Why doesn’t my heart turns to black after smoking?
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Dream
A memory of your smell :
an enslavement, so clandestine.
It tunes my arteries to sing,
like the waves sing,
for purposes unknown.
I ebb away , from this nonchalant madness
and turn into a moon-kissed star dust,
wishing there were no sun or stars,
Cause I now abhor the lick of light.
It separates us unknowingly.
How come I still dream of you again?
At what cost?
At what price?
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Writings to Heaven 