Tag Archives: poetry

beauty, clouds, creative-writing, Desire, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Heart, Poems, Poetry

A Circle of Memories

Warmth is a long sedimentary pause,
sip it slowly, relish it.
My eyes have taught me the art of forgetting, 
My heart has almost perfected it.

Too much of an interlude
and the spaces around you
start spewing nostalgic visions,
sabbatical turns into the ruins,
the moment one begins to dream

I dreamt of a normality which I always fear:
A morning in July with no rain,
where my hands spread as far as the sky, but they never find you.

We should have woken up when It was still winter 
our sleeping hearts still booming with summer’s dream.
cold distant stars, falling white snow
hearts in unison, brewing warmth
eyes sipping this pause sip by sip

Time was a circle of memories 
when you were here. 
Always.

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Articles, beauty, Books, clouds, creative-writing, dream, Drinks, fiction and poetry

To seek happiness in eyes

A Golden retriever
bathed in his golden fur,
the heart breathes an air of love,
as nature intended

A Cabin horse
breathing fire
as the heart pumps
on every touch of grass

A Fish in the deep blue
swimming across an airless ocean,
her eyes so waterproof,
her heart prone to catchings

they dwell in the same hours
as we do, embracing the nature
without causes, without pursuits
like a man without eyes
lost in a dark cave
eager to touch the holy sculptures of truth

our eyes, senses making us blind.
the heart never pumps,
the grass never touched
the water is never has been airless

yet we live in a planet
called life.

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beauty, creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, Life, Love

Longing

This heart, dosed on Chopin and Bach
Traces your voice, a subtle echo even , somehow,
What is silence to a room full of devoted hearts
waiting to bloom,

I know : ones without an unforgivable autumn
will wait and wait
my love, I seek a way out
to you and your summer.

In the end, the tress
Drizzle and disappear,
There is no night in this summer
someone spilled the sky’s heart red.

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beauty, Death, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, Writings

A Girl’s heart is never hers.

Call it a predicament,
Or the nature’s curse,
As soon the girl blossoms into a woman
her heart is never hers.

It belongs to the roots:
Her parents, her family,
Her unknown love, devoid of the sorrowful meetings.
A transaction she never prefers.

She sit in her balcony
For the sky teases her for sorrowful palette.
These wonders if everything, falls in her place
This heart transacted with a pulse of sorrow,
blooms into the autumn light of hope.

There is something about your face,
I wonder and wonder and never fail.
This heart somehow I feel is mine, tell me a price.
is it A knife, some blood, a meticulous sacrifice ?

Come back now, in the winter we promised.
Retrace yourself, somehow.
This heart deluded of our voices.
its our, for now. forever somehow

Make it the last sun,
the last moon,
the last meteor.
I want this time to last.
For chase me now, as you can,
As spring chases winter.
every then, somehow

SB

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Articles, fiction and poetry, fiction&writing, Freehand Writing, Life, Poems, Poetry

Fragments of Me

There are some fragments of me,
that refuse to time travel,
they live in grandeur of yesterday,

There are some fragments of me
that travel ahead of me,
they clutch deep into my body
and drag me to uncertain future.

Finally there are some fragments,
which believe neither in beautiful past or uncertain future,
they keep me on the ground and always walking,
they keep me sane and full of vision
I call them Hope.

© Shashank Bhardwaj.

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articeles, Articles, fiction and poetry, fiction&writing, Freehand Writing, Life, Love, Poetry

Two Souls

Two souls floating around,
dissolving in each other
without a sound,
in a world full of shouts and noises,
forgetting all their easy choices,

like the sky and dark clouds,
let us brew a darkness that haunts,
that torments the sun to rise,
till ages we separate from love.

Posted from WordPress for Android

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Articles, fiction and poetry, fiction&writing, food, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, Writings

Poor

Toiling hard day and night,
looks tired at every sight,
for every dream in eyes,
lonesome cries
and few delights,
still walking down the road,
he never forgets to smile,
to wish people around,
learn something new
and share what he has,
be it food,
life
and laughter,
I wonder why they call him poor.

Posted from WordPress for Android

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