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Eden

A red sky,
dissolves in blue
the sun’s hue
turns to a dripped nectar.

The leaves do not wither,
The soil is never dry.
The air smells like
someone I knew,

It was a dream,
too good to be true.

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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.

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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?

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Breeze

What’s the opposite of an echo?
Lay your head on my chest,
Under this waxy paper moon and
Tell me what stories hide
In the constillations of your freckles.

Let my fingertips trace over
The epics in the old soul.
Some spines are cracked,
And pages torn– but you,
You always remember
Which are my favorites.

“Have we done this before?”
“Tracing ourselves in one another?”
“Yes”, you say
and that mellow smile of yours brews
a breeze smelling of thousand dreams,
I collapse into them. Slowly, again.

Shashank Bhardwaj