creative-writing, fiction and poetry, Love, Poems, poetry

creative-writing, fiction and poetry, Life, Poems, poetry

Forget

I kiss every sparkle of light

with my dark pupils:

A river smelling of forgotten touches

can only be cold,

my blood can only hold a limit of warmth

in every dream,

A little more

and my heart shall melt,

like the sun who devoured fire,

just to forget,

the kiss of the seas.

– SB.

beauty, creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Poems, Poetry

The Russian Parable

An area collapsing
into wise beards of giants,
Dostoevsky,Bunin,Tolstoy,Chekhov

Each, a decimation and integration
an oxymoronic existence,
mix life and death,
some unbearable winters,
some poverty
and tall glass of vodki,
you invent an utopia,
that is still alive in dusts
and pages.

a dream of winter, isn’t that easy:
Siberia is dying of touch of warmth
Petersburg is selling Vodki by it’s heartbeat.
Its still just old farms and innumerable counts.

Beautiful women still detested by beauty,
Brave men still abhorred by the truth,
Death still irritated by shallowness, we create,

I brisk past Moscow,
Kremlin is still the same,
my bones ache by the walk,
Never Invade Russia in winter?
One never remembers.

Shashank Bhardwaj

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

I wrote

I once wrote for others,

chaps so full of literature,

they would puke sonnets.

Women with legs

wearing beautiful stockings :

undiscovered ballets,

But they never read.

They were so full of themselves

and full of entitlement of life.

And I wasn’t full of myself anywhere,

anytime,

It took me a year of my life

to realize that

I won’t be full of myself

anytime soon.

You fuckers reading this.

Let me know,

When I’m Done.

with my writing.

Write a Memoir,

If you can,

You heartless fucks.

Shashank Bhardwaj

fiction and poetry

In the tavern of love

beauty, creative-writing, dream, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Soliloquy’s Demise

My toes are always burdened,
the mirage of my own existence
hides with way I walk.

No, bright sun or cool breezes,
warm flames or chilling silences
can refill my chalice of purpose.

I have to keep drinking myself
till I am empty enough to flow,

There is no taste for longing,
Its just a weather my tongue never forgets.

We are all pieces of unfinished monologues,
laughing miserably with a blindfold,
remembering a perfect sleep.

– Shashank Bhardwaj

beauty, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love, Poems, 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

Writings to Heaven