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.
Waves, the grieving mothers:
always keep coming back to the shores.
With a hope of being embraced
and held forever.
Alas!
But all I see is their exodus
beneath the beautiful crimson sky,
with salt in my breath,
and their unseen teary eyes.
They say, the sound of the ocean is lovely.
But what if it is a humongous melody of lament
conjured from the longing for its shores?
A homonym for the humans
wrapped in nature’s plight.
A dream fed to me
by the silence of the night.
A memory so wrong,
it now seems right.
© Shashank Bhardwaj
With your laced clothing,
you resplend an aura
that smells of lust and raging whiskey,
the ice fed hands trace your fragile
and sensitive breasts, as you unhook your bra.
With my warm tongue, I lick the chocolate over your pointed nipples.
You caress your fingers with the water between your legs.
I tear away your black panties,
and I am sure you wished for the sooner of it.
I come inside you, inside us
as we tremble as terrified horses
riding in the storm, embracing and feasting
on one another.
Your hips turn warm,
The legs go tired,
we climax in each other arms
and wait to begin again,
in the sunlight, we escaped from.
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
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
Writings to Heaven 