Tag Archives: Poetry

fiction and poetry

A Room with No Music

I swallow a room in my mind,

to digest its origins.

Its woodwork churns and mollifies,

I could feel my fingers full of sawdust and laughter,

lost handprints(possibly mine), from the dying

furniture and the floor caress my head.

You will always find a way to meet yourself,

once you are forgotten by everyone.

The lights are turning dim,

I do not know, how to serve light in a tall glass for myself?

Can you teach my fist to hold sands of darkness?

I shall learn somehow, to sprinkle when necessary.

You can learn anything, you want.

But remember to put off the light in the end.

The garden screams with its emptiness,

and my eyes could bear the shrieks.

Is this is how I forget your touch?

Without music? Without sleep?

SB

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creative-writing, Fiction & Poetry, Poems, Poetry

Balance

There’s a motionless tree
And there is another one coming forward,
A river of trees
Hits my chest

This green surge
Is good fortune,
You are dressed in red
You are
The seal of the scorched year

The carnal firebrand
The star fruit.
In you like sun

The hour rests
Above an abyss of clarities

The height is clouded by birds
Their beaks construct the night
Their wings carry the day
Planted in the crest of light

Between firmness and vertigo
You are the only
Transparent balance

I need sometimes

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

The Russian Parable

An area collapsing
into wise beards of giants,
Dostoevsky,Bunin,Tolstoy,Chekhov

Each, a decimation and integration
an oxymoronic existence,
mix life and death,
some unbearable winters,
some poverty
and tall glass of vodki,
you invent an utopia,
that is still alive in dusts
and pages.

a dream of winter, isn’t that easy:
Siberia is dying of touch of warmth
Petersburg is selling Vodki by it’s heartbeat.
Its still just old farms and innumerable counts.

Beautiful women still detested by beauty,
Brave men still abhorred by the truth,
Death still irritated by shallowness, we create,

I brisk past Moscow,
Kremlin is still the same,
my bones ache by the walk,
Never Invade Russia in winter?
One never remembers.

  • Shashank Bhardwaj
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