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

The Girl with the Ouija Board

Dark sinister whisperings
rouse my soul up,
‘Every Tongue has a demon
buried within its veins, for
it gives birth to thirst,
lust and blood.’
She told me before sleeping,

Archaic hymns, butchered lemons
drowned in vinegar, disappeared behind
a mist of lavender smelling candles,
apexed at pentagram made of saffron

I feel her curves turn cold,
the lips turn ominously black,
‘Eyes are windows to this world,
darkness is the passage to all other’
she keeps murmuring,holding my hand
till it is not she anymore.

I could sense it the way my hands are touched,
the way she removes her clothes then
and the way she kisses.
She never told her of her fetishes
and now I can’t even ask.

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, Death, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Price

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?

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.

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

Sins of a Dreamer

I wanted to be real,
To be a rain in winters,
Whom they cannot despise,
love or forget,
to be a chaotic origin of resentment,
mysterious, magical and everything in between
and beyond.

I was a tofu once,
my liver poisoned by
daily savouring of pure alcohol of dreams,
It didn’t kill me then,
It didn’t kill me now.

Bring your hands and choke
the light within me,
Turn me into a grass spilled with fresh soaked blood,
turn me into a a galaxy of restlessness
with kisses of pause and serenity eloping madness.

I shall write all about it.
Till your eyes melt in dreams of forgetting me,
Again and again,
every night
You poor, dreamer of death.

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

Flood of Fire

I bred dreams
without copulation
and with a beserked reality.
The lights were just curtains
made of almonds, grass and rain.
I was still a myth,
a flesh tombstoned alive,
in a forest with no surreal taste for fire.
I counted the pigeons who flew without purpose,
I wasn’t righteous, I wasn’t maniacal
I was being fair
and that blows everybody’s mind.
I kissed my heart in a flood of fire,
It’s ashes still warm, still fire.
You don’t the live you get,
You inherit it from stars who can’t speak
and hence they say, destiny is blind
for my arms still live in a river of scorned ashes
Unable to see, with eyes dazzled with unending fire.

– Shashank Bhardwaj

beauty, Desire, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Song of the Earth

I lie beside the red tree,
the sky is an estuary of the cold
blue winds and warm fire poured out in sky.
The song of this earth is a song of color,
Devoured and abandoned by the wrath of sea.

A sword cleaves the belly of the sky
To pour light in my pupils, too drowned by an evening on fire.
There deserts mourns for wetness of my tongue,
its sand wobble like a flightless bird, to feel the sweat tickle my back.

I become an earth,
In a pause, they call as sleep.
The oceans wrap my hands
In a glove of salt water,
and whispers me
to write with eyes closed.
While its still time.
While it still matters.

Writings to Heaven

Shashank Bhardwaj

Tag Archives: Fiction & Poetry