Articles, creative-writing, Desire, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

Burning Sabbaticals

It has been a long hiatus, I have migrated to a new city, joined a new workspace , made an entire library and workstation but I miss the soothing of the writing I used to have. This hiatus grows on me, every time I try to sleep in the night, I wonder how my words sleep, aching, bellowing in despair to be entangled in a original thought.

It’s difficult to say where to begin and why, I must excuse the exits and replenish this sight. For today although I am drowning in my bed in this darkness, from tomorrow I shall be burning this sabbatical. It’s time to pour, outpour and flood the thoughts, lets begin, shall we?

New Writing Desk In a New City.
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Life, Love, Poems, Poetry

Bear

as you drift away in the bus,
whose windows are made up of just
last night’s raindrops,
remember these castles
and cathedrals : the memoirs of a fading 
glorious past, these icy beaches and almost sun kissed shorelines,
melancholic clouds, this wind just before it rains again.
This all brings me back to you.
So if your fingers tingle with a breeze,
Its just me dreaming with you.
I am not there but somewhere
I shall slip into your heart
with a smile for no reason.
Bear this presence till the sun wakes us up.

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beauty, creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Poems, poetry, Work from Home

Forever

To write about you,
Is it to dream about a song.

The humming of your voice
Is a symphony sometimes.

Do you see my heart dancing
In all the flames you set within me?

Do you feel the warmth that brews
within me, as the echo of your voice
slithers into my soul.

If you are the music,
then teach me to dance,
alone, unapologetically, forever.
Just once.

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

Rehearsal of Loss

float sublimely,
for there is no ground beneath the toes today.
The white verandah delves a sight
as you move untouched eclipsed by warm fingertips.
the water shall soon forget itself,
it has no memory of your existence.

White voids and bright wine.
melanchony’s cocktail : a melodious blur
beneath a bright but dusty chandelier,
We have nothing to break
our silence escaped through the white windows.

we retire,
listening to the winds
and sipping some wine,
rehearsing
our exits from one-another,
our exits from ourselves,
our exits from our pasts.

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beauty, Desire, erotica, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Life, Poems, Poetry, Work from Home, Writings

Felt

The unknown are felt,
With hands moving inside,
Feeling the black bra, while
your face turns red with joy of ecstacy.
Everything turns to water, your lips below
turn into a fountain of desire,
and your legs closing with wetness.
Waiting to be touched
Waiting to be consumed
Waiting to be felt

Shashank Bhardwaj

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creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

Part One

It had just rained last night.
You called me twice
You came to my garden in that linen white shirt 2 in the night.
The ground was wet, will stones blooming and cursing our toes.
The plants were drenched in a smell of petrichor.
You should not have wore the white shirt
and shown me those breasts wet and erect.
Our lips drew wars for blood, the tongues wrestled for saliva and hands traced every inch.
We forgot the stones, as if pain was an asylum
those were not the leisurely moans, I felt the trembling back but you hands made me swallow.

A bite on the bosoms and you turned into an animal, taking my hands inside the shirt
Neighbours were asleep, they wish they wouldn’t.
My hands helped you with touch as you stroked me so well,the hands moving over the warm breasts, turned cold and wet from the rain
The touch moves as you let out a moan.

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