clouds, creative-writing, dream, Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, Poetry, poetry, Work from Home, Writings


the moss by the window grows up
presumptuous contentment ferments itself.
This air is magically much lighter today
I remember this forgotten dream
where each rain drop
becomes a spiraling sigh of someone I knew.

Searching for my heart,
I scramble in linen white bedsheets,
my eyes rummage the room for a mirror
for this face must be a void :
an artist’s regretful hallucination
a dreamer’s revered loss.

We smile the best,
when the mind’s eye forgets the face.

I should settle for a second slumber
to grin like a Cheshire cat,
the sky turns murderous grey
a lovely occasion? Isn’t it?

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.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

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

Autumnal Rain – Haibun


The dusted road bathes today, for the sky bleeds its white blood. Every drop is a wondrous suicide, a deliberate fall for love of joy. Who knew that the washed away soil would take everyone back to their dreams. We used to chase the rainbows till we forget each other’s faces. We floated and tasted these colours.Sometimes we carried them in our pockets for the night. Rain kept the fallen dead leaves alive. They would float to their shores to be picked by lovers, dried and kept in books. We were so young then.We could have been gods of our lives then, but everyone now takes these autumnal rains for granted.

dead red leaves float to
carry the smell of wet earth,
please take me along.


 – A Haibun is a Traditional Japanese Poetry that includes a Prose with a Haiku. The First Paragraph is a prose and the second one is a haiku.

Fiction & Poetry, fiction and poetry, Life, Love, Poems, poetry


They tell me I write somewhat ok.

I smile and greet them
as the sun greets
the minarets in the desert,
without a purpose.

Why don’t you write something about love, they say?
something about a terrible broken past,
it sells you know; they will love it,
they always relate to it.

I tell him,
I don’t get the vibes out of it.

Love sometimes feels like
eating leftover chips at
a mediocre burger joint.

I prefer watching dogs
playing in the rain

at least they never pretend.