Desire, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry, Writings

Voyage – I

You went into the sea at dawn.
And made a necklace out of the voyage,
Nobody knew whether your were a mermaid,
A sea goddess or the beauty obsessed with the shores of the sea.
But I didn’t think twice, before breaking that necklace with my fingers.
Just to touch your lips,
Just to imagine,
What could I have done,
To taste your tongue.
To drown in your eyes,
I voyaged voicelessly into the sea beneath your legs.
They say, your eyes had story to tell
But I tasted them slowly in the deep blue darkness
It was tempting,
To witness your fair and subtle flesh,
I wanted to touch every inch of it,
But I was told that dreams disappear with
a laugh,
So I waited for you to sleep
and my hands knew what to do as you drifted away.
I traced your collarbone,
an arched sculpture of desire,
Till my lips forgot what it meant to kiss,
For I have never tasted blood or had the craving for so,
They went below to the waist, to feel the curves that smell like the fresh dawn and tempted me
Like a nonchalant dreamer,
From the waist , you drove my fingers to the breasts,
and turned me addicted to touch.
Just don’t stop. Now
Does it tickle or you forget everything?
As the fingers trace from the neck
To the end of the cleavage,
The unbuttoning of your shirt
Is there a mystery as the bra awaits its place on floor,
If only we could stop our lips
And pray to the heaven,
To not to make their flesh running
With the blood of desire. .

beauty, creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, Heart, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Promise

I could help you out,
by an unhook, a tweeny move,
But who shall hold your wings then,
When the bra falls of the grounds
and the breasts turn to voluptuous beasts of touch.
The arch of the back shall intensify the visions
For a sword out of a sheath shines and tastes the brightest.
I could taste em, the edges of your sword made collarbone,
Promise you shall read my work for lifetime,
If i lost my tongue caressing your body

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

All Life

beauty, creative-writing, Death, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry

Dream

A memory of your smell :
an enslavement, so clandestine.
It tunes my arteries to sing,
like the waves sing,
for purposes unknown.

I ebb away , from this nonchalant madness
and turn into a moon-kissed star dust,
wishing there were no sun or stars,

Cause I now abhor the lick of light.
It separates us unknowingly.
How come I still dream of you again?
At what cost?
At what price?

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

Thousand Leagues of Sea

Salt, bitter like fumes,
of a fire built of nostalgic warmth,
cures my homesickness.

I am again a toddler,
eyes blue as a turbulent sea.
Waving the currents
an untouchable goodbye.

A blank maritime flag,
holds a thousand words
dipped in indecipherable voices.

The language of longing,
Yet to be invented.

– SB

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

Patience

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.

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

Touch

The curves begin to melt,
Its astounding we remember
Everything we touch.
So your memory is a trace of fingertips,
From the callous neck, to the sculpted collar bones, you are a like a hidden lake in an island forgotten, where I dip to forget myself,
The curves extrapolate like rays of sunlight never knowing why,
From the breasts to the fine arch of the back,
Everything dissolves again and again,
My hands aren’t wet with your touch?
Are you really what they call as magic?

For my hands disappear within you,
Tracing every tips without whispering you,
Touching everywhere without telling you?
Making it a dream, with dreaming you,
Do you feel it all, or should I be dissolving you?
Not by touch, not by shyness
But by a pool of shyness and leaving you?
I never knew how to withdraw, so the dress is leaving you?
Maniacal? Sensuous? Are you mad?
All sound same. While your eyes teach you.

Writings to Heaven

Shashank Bhardwaj

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