Do people tell you?
When you smile.
The moon cleaves itself in half
And my heart cleaves full.
Somedays, most days.
Like today.
Today
Tag Archives: love
Art
If all the beauty in the world
ceases to exist someday,
You would still be the unwritten poem for me,
The one I could never finish.
For I fear, that if I do so,
You would be lost forever in this world,
in the unseen books and the untouched pages
and in the hands of all those admirers,
whose fingertips have forgotten,
the art of patience.
The Exalted Pursuits
To define an exit,
is to summon a purpose,
I defined snow, without touching it.
It has never left me since.
In the dreams,
under the sky robbed of stars,
in this utter disturbance of existence.
I wished you never painted me as a mosaic,
as well as I do.
My hands coloring with hues of autumn, winter
and unkissed summer,
because to fail you shall be the end of my potrait.
the symmetry in love is astounding.
Thousand touches on those brown eyes still unfelt
shall yield their numbness:
an art before departure,
a history before invasion.
a cause without a purpose.
This winter ends today
the glass panes conjure a colorful silence :
yellow, a touch of comfort,
when it travels back,
this premonition of forgetfulness
shall shine on you.
Lay these eyelids on purpose, today, at least
What is to be lost? Than a fickle dream
and city made of failed purposes
with us as the lone survivors,
building cities as we forget,
what is like to be loved,
without words.
One Love Poem
I feel, I am out of love poems,
they have trespassed my diary as if,
someone blamed the toes of humanity
for it’s biased existence.
This earth, when it traces my toes.
finds a flood of remembrance.
the souls it walked with,
still brewing and adamant.
the nectar : my heart is now a mirror
the statis shall last it’s demise.
We are the last two birds,
Tell me, how to forgive a feather
for betrayal of flight.
To extinguish a love: A Manual.
Many people tried to write it,
in the rains of acceptance.
Ruins from Nostalgia to Acceptance,
Still hear the echoes,
of failure and despair.
There was no love poem
There was us.
It was just words.
The light was still as black,
as the day we slept together,
hoping for a dawn.
despite all the odds.
never knowing why.
- Shashank Bhardwaj
Answer
The answer to silence :
Is a breath of someone you remember
It seeps into yours lips,
It blossoms up your neck
Turns it into a tendril drowsed in rain.
It caresses the lungs, painting them
In hues or orange, red and shallow yellow.
Your toes move when you hear me.
Have you ever noticed?
A freckle gleams and shapes the arc of cheeks.
Its like the summer where you met me.
Its the summer , you shall never have again.
I became the monsoon, after that,
Turned you into a rainforest
Drop by drop.
Like it should always have been.
Always.
Heartless
The tongue is heartless servant, it slithers on your neck and lips, like a snake devoid of warm flesh, I feel the warmth and the tremble in cleavage, but I am cursed as in Eden.
It smothers the bra slowly, peeking within with satanic eyes, the warmth is a thirst for a thing made of out flesh, it multiples while inside, caressing, pressing, Disappearing with eyes,
Your breath is a kiss of blaze burning and I was a winter worth nurturing with hands choking my existence
The breasts caressed slowly, into a tumultuous moment of touch, I trace the tips to its origin, feeling them erect and ready for to pleased, unhook now and lie down, let me taste the eden before being banished forever.
Writings to Heaven 