A promenade with no ends,
near the sea with no beginnings.
We could just have walked and walked
and walked
but the reverberations
from the salt-laden winds
convolved into a imputes purpose
of touching the crimson light softly
while caressing its voiceless moans.
The tongue relished upon its silence,
while the soul warmed its sumptuous flesh.
We embraced the blood spilt sky,
like a stranger
who makes love
to his vehement past
with eyes closed.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
The fire burns
the ashes burns
the head goes in for a spin
to a vortex which sheds reality.
I seek a cold ale
to subvert the dimensions
to escape from its wretched walls
of nothingness.
In a land of smoke,
I seek feathers,
rather than satiable grounds
cause I have been there,
my history in way of your memory.
A rain of ale
A rain of memories
A rain of wishes undone
A rain of regrets regretted.
Help me, with everything you can.
If you can,
If you all can,
Our dominion is doomed,
but the night is ours,
the shadows are ours.
We were ours
once.
Now we are for them,
we were,
Why didn’t we realize?
© Shashank Bhardwaj
The links are an illusion
the lattice is just
a thread of veins
that hold, a fragile old bottle
of sanity.
Some say, the lattice floats
in blood.
Some feel, it drowns
in dreams.
How do you beset a vision,
that contains everything
and maps nothing.
Its eyes do not work,
like us, it sees what it seeks.
It feels what it needs.
It dreams what it dreams.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
I wish the glasses
in the broken mirror
to melt and take my face along
with the lonely sharp edges.
Let us turn together
into a faceless silver
that floats and floats,
but never expresses its tides.
How good would it be,
to start all over again
to let others search for you,
for days and nights,
but you are there inside,
you were always there
and no one cared back then
and now when you are melted and pure,
they simply lose their minds.
How good would it be
to again become a newborn child,
with just curiosity in the head
and with no taste of memory.
I could laugh again,
again and again
without knowing the reasons
to stop.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
If I could breathe fire,
Winters would be sumptuous,
as snow melts, like cheese.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Don’t be unsettled
by the settling emotions,
Come and trace my lips,
with an atheist’s devotion.
We are nothing but shadows
destroyed by touch and light,
It’s getting darker with this onset of rain,
Let us hide in each other, tonight.
We shall slumber to melt,
for these desires should be dealt,
But not in silence, not in shyness, not in timid love,
but by forgetting ourselves, by forgetting the touch, by forgetting who we really were.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
black coffee on the table,
clean cold steel-chiselled Glock
loaded and placed in the bed-drawer.
The sharp wire that smells of the skins
and flesh it has strangulated. A black pair
of gumboots, a black overcoat, a black void
of past. A distant daughter who loves strawberries,
cats with abhorrence for your existence.
Cadillac, a pair to tan gloves, a love for silence,
love for the sight of eyes turning red, pleading
A packet of cigarettes, a bottle of Miller’s
An emptiness that spreads, a death that patiently lives.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Writings to Heaven 