beauty, Desire, Fiction & Poetry, Poems, poetry

Why

A black viscous river
adorned by the light of moonlight
Moves over your cheeks and neck,
an irresistible silk woven pack of hair,
dissolving the color of your eyes
But not the lips, wine red.
The arch of the chin meets shoulder
with the warm flesh intact and curved
Over your body.
It no mosaic or painting
But God’s idea of a natural painting.

The curves move as a tempting thirsty river
from your back to the sculpted arch of the waist,
every touch is a desirous attempt to moksha,
The bones still warm now, the heart still soft,
The straps refine the curve with its color unknown,
Caressing the soft mounds below the neck to the tapered waist and way below.
Do you imagine yourself this way?
Why not?

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

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 sinks
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.

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

Tempation

The hair is tied and fixed,
its an abyss spread by your tips,
Its a veil that dropped
over your neck and the shoulders,
One could trace the curves of neck
And the collarbone with bare eyes,
with a hope of a dream though.
The lips are poignant and colorless,
That tempts the tongue to unthinkable pursuits,
The curve slips off like a fine bottle of sun kissed glass.
The bosoms and waist are sculpted of desires
draped in black
An ice cube would melt and jump off the way
Of your curves, kindled by your warmth.
Just think, what it would to my words,
When they touch your lips.
Brewing temptation in my ink.

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

Unforgiving Muses

Pristine as it could be,
The dark rivers bejeweled by a natural light,
Your hair gallops softly on the nurtured skin,
The eyes deep pool of unforgiving madness,
Rest over the supple cheeks.

The lips seem fed of a douse of pink tulips,
Float untouched as the chin sculpts to the fine curve of neck,
The back seems arched and curved at ends of imagination,
The curves hold itself draped in golden brightness.

So you are here to make me unlearn poetry
Or to be a poem that can be unlearned.

– Shashank Bhardwaj

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

A Cigaratte lit in Kashmir

‘Kaafir’, the one with ghastly eyes.
They treat me as if I was born in Pashtun(Afghanistan ) plains,
I have sowed this land with my trembling hand for letters,
This lake is now a void, a graveyard reciting my cursed smoked throat
They claw my identity and assassinate it with bullets that don’t even weep.
The blood soaks my bedsheet, I am a memory now for some,
that floats in ravines and clouded mornings.
Prejudice, Nationality? I hear the echoes with eyes shot red with unloving sleep.
I spit on your eyes but faint afterwards,
Why doesn’t my heart turns to black after smoking?

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

A Cloud’s Alms

The wood savours its taste
Of the tasteless liquid.
Fireplace dreams
of its malignant kingdom
In the heavy cold downpour

I, rise as a sparrow,
To drench my non existent feathers.
My eyes dilate and reverberate
as a nonchalant child seeking
an incomprehensible vision.

The trees are showering,
Land is drowned in its brown ashes,
My dog peeks at the drops by the window.
His tongue is restless as my heart.

To stay, indoors
And bear the longing
Of this cold touch.

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

Developing a Distaste

It is easier to develop a distaste
for it lingers even when the tongue goes dry.

But it is way harder to swallow it,
once it develops.

Look around for God sake,
This torrid heat was enough
to rip our faces off,
into unsolvable remains.

It should have been enough
to scream with no eyes, towards the blistering light
while seeking redemption from a homeless god.

The cities were still swirling;
like Gorgeous Prima Ballerinas,
banking their toes,blindfolded.
Waiting for a thunderous applause
from its inhabitants:
Like a disease seeking a moving eulogy
from a terminal patient.

We still clung to our little lies,
sleeping soundly in the brisk false air,
ignoring the heat, people
and mirrors

and calling it a day.

Writings to Heaven

Shashank Bhardwaj

Tag Archives: Poetry

Why