concatenated existence
today, tommorow,
the time unfurls :
measured by solitary light.
The cellular disruption of memory :
a dream devours a dream
a desire devolves :
wish
need
want
Oh ! the ladder to abyss,
come, conjure the collusion :
fear in the mellow sunlight,
apprehension in a mother’s womb,
desire in a meaningless world.
Like the waters in Greece,
blue, succulent , tapered into viscous curves
stay now, don’t leave.
This sigh reinvents itself more warmly,
sensing your departure.
Let me dream of it as you disappear,
The bed with white linen reminding us
of our flesh embellishing our existence.
A touch is what remains etched on my eyes.
Somehow now unseen, untouched.
What would the yellow kiss of sunlight greet?
A smile made of dreams?
Or dreams devoured off smiles.
The plants exhale hues of tamarind,
warm green tea succors the seperation,
In my wake,
I am next to a bottle of our emptiness.
I should have drowned when you stared me last night.
You sit in the garden
swinging to and fro,
a shining sun
brilliant yellow with warmth
brightly painted oranges in your hand
or are they tangerines?
I do not know
for I was not invited
to this winter feast.
You sit with the others,
peals of laughter,
seeds of conversations
leak into my room somehow.
The pulp of the oranges
dripping from your lips
as you discard the peels
dulled by time
turning bitter and dry.
Let them fall to the dirty ground
uncared for and
unnecessary.
I forget their existence, the sun
and the warmth.
I remember us,
the pulp stained lips
and a thirst for never missing such feasts,
where your eyes inch this close to me.
where the breath turns citrus in unison.
Last night, I sojourned in the warm fields of cherry blossom,
letting my silence convolve with the voiceless dreams.
I cried in a language, I never heard before.
The memory of my voice absconds
for a few days.
Leaving only regretful notes, of unending sabbaticals.
Nature never speaks, I have observed.
It just pours a volume of voices from its belly,
into a pot full of colors,
to melt and coalesce
for our eyes to fathom in silence.
So the next time, we lie on the bed,
don’t speak, just observe all of my colors
as I trace the aching fan dying out above.
Whisper to me then gently, if you wish,
of how does the grey mix in the volumes of smiles bright?
And yet never turns loud enough
for us to tremble and dissolve
in one another,
painting our silence
into this unspeakable color of love.
Every ray of sunlight,
is a drop of warmth
melted by god’s eyes
You, a silver mirror,
That can glitter my hand even in the darkness,
as if a thousand ants enjoying a living feast,
for their heart’s are as restless as a lover’s hunger for voice.
In my dreams, each night,
Someone cleaves the sky with no voice.
It becomes a darkroom where I fumble with trembling hands,
my memories dipped in a pool of questions,
like a photograph being developed in a room full of darkest red wines.
I wake up to a room devoid of light,
wishing to be in a subway where no one cares for your existence if you have learned to forget your hands.
I sleep wishing the subway leads to nowhere.
A silence is a powerful noise,
When shall our ears act like our eyes?
– Shashank Bhardwaj
Warmth is a long sedimentary pause,
sip it,slowly,
through eyes that have learned
the craft of forgetting.
Too much of an interlude
and the spaces around you
start spewing nostalgic visions.
The Sabbaticals turn to never ending
regrets.
I turn to a normality I feared:
A morning in April with no rain.
I should have woken up,
when It was winter,
and my heart still booming
with the summer’s dream
– Shashank Bhardwaj
It is quite obvious,
The way your tongue will feel
while reading this title:
slithering itself in a wet void.
Your nose now dreams of a petrichor,
The toes shall yearn for the wet grass.
Fingertips aching to scratch the moss
of the exiled pebbles somewhere,
How just a few words,
could tease your senses.
Yet you use a picture to interpolate
your creations
Why?
© Shashank Bhardwaj
Writings to Heaven 