a crimson sky,
a blue horizon,
a careless troupe of albatrosses, yawning.
A voiceless master of the puppets,
feeding the salt in the air to its children.
an ownerless horse dreaming of grasslands,
a dog treading the unending shores,
a graveyard of the sand-castles,
without tombstones.
All patiently wait for the sunset.
It stays, I believe,
within each one of us.
One of the few things, the death
allows us to take with us.
Did you ever notice?
© Shashank Bhardwaj
It is summer already
so unhook your bra,
and melt while lying over me,
I shall drink your existence,
and caress the water,
you leave over,
Till the winter comes.
How hard would it be
to be made of flesh and be mortal,
to dream of all the tastes,
and go wet uncontrollably.
To lick your mirror image
in her mouth slowly,
and be satisfied in sometime,
but still, lack a dearth of reason,
to entwine
into a thousand unseen motions,
to caress the nothingness in air
and become understood in front
of all the living.
to be a tongue,
and be a language
and exist
but not noticed
ever.
How hard would it be?
© Shashank Bhardwaj
I still remember
the way you swam away,
wriggling out of your clothes,
I could see your wet breasts,
with the tips still drowned in drops.
You took my hand between your legs,
and whispered me to begin my art
of dissolving your shyness into thousand
moans of madness.
The tips turned dry, begging me to lick their
shame of existence away.
I worked through them, I worked below you too.
I sculpted a river of ecstacy within you,
and you went through all, by letting our tongues
mute our lives for sometimes.
The silence, we could still hear.
The silence, we can never forget.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
This is one of the finest pieces of Poetry\Prose dissolved in music. I decided to share this with all of you. Let me know what do you think of it.
Artist : Eden Ahbez
Song : The Wanderer
I bait the lights
to recluse into darkness,
as I step again into a past
made of voiceless shadows.
If I look closely,
the shadows conjure images:
of a ruined city and orphaned children.
If I smell closely:
it all smells of gunpowder,
dried blood and unending screams.
and if I move closer:
I am in again in the war itself,
they never really end,
their shadows never disappear.
I have learned to live with them,
and they follow me,
wherever I go.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
a thirst,
is the dryness that floats from the throat
is the snow that burns everything
is the fire without a crackling voice
is the river polluted with a meaningless existence
is the reality drinking bottles of dreams
is the death despised deeply
is the shadow unloved
is a blessing and a curse.
is the human, too much loved.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Writings to Heaven 