A dream that never ends

My veins, my blood,
all infused with star dust
The pupils dilate slowly,
to hear the dying light
pull a voiceless symphony.
I will never forget the music
for I never hear it
When it begins everything
and keeps playing
in the back of your head.
The eyes wake up,
to find itself in a house
abandoned by sunlight.
A dusty mirror greets me,
But the person inside it
is nowhere to be found.
A shadow,
A faceless image stares into
the abyss of my eyes.
Looking for answers I guess.
It has no happiness,
no sorrow,
no grief
and no pain
pained over his face.
It just waits patiently
for me to wake up from sleep
and waits again to greet me again.
It is a never ending cycle.
Of remorse, of success,
Of everything in between.
I name him ‘Destiny’
for it tells me nothing
and just waits
For me to break the mirror
and paint my answers all over his face.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

Portrait Poetry – II

Black mass of surreal beauty
all tied and convolved.
I still remember the smell of your hair,
For it traced me to all the paths you took me over your body.
The eyes of temptation do haunt me still,
Like a storm unasked, you blew my thoughts away from your red wet lips,
I could have traced the neck and the sculpted collarbone
caressing all the way to the breasts and sumptuous waist,
drowning in the desirous touch.
But only if you let me.
Should I?
Look into my eyes and answer.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

Portrait Poetry

The hair is veiled
With abysmal darkness
But your smile is the light of those red lips,
You spell an aura of resplendence.
From your fair collarbone and desiring neck,
Your curves tempt every living soul with some youthfulness left in their hearts and a pair of functioning eyes.

Perfectly shaped bosoms,
curved over a black brasserie
That trace towards a series of irresistible
sun baked beauty.
Now move slowly,
Let me forget this image.
I need some sleep,
To dream you again.
Unravelling everything slowly
Till you forget to stop me.

© Shashank Bharadwaj



My hair kisses my nose sometimes
Its unruly in every sense, I agree.
to hold a whiff of air without its permission,
to be unhinged at the tips,
to become a dark wave of freedom
in the afternoon light.

The longest distant star from Earth is 5 billion light-years away,
I read last night.
They brought him closer to me by naming it Icarus.
Does it still dreams of kissing the sun?

The longest distance I have ever walked,
was between a beautiful never-ending dream
to an obvious ominous reality,
because you could never tell if you have arrived or not.
I should have used my legs for same,
for they could have told me to stop in between.

The hardest pain is the one you can never touch,
It just flows as a river and takes you away.
Even if you close your eyes, you will still be wet.
Even if you swim away, you will still be wet.
Even if you drown, they will find you, still wet.

So why not just put your hair down,
and float to the abyss?

© Shashank Bhardwaj

Pic Credits – Alban Grosdidier



The black coat drenches,
The drizzle traces my hidden skin,
For it is so tired
of caressing the lifeless muddy grounds.

It has learned to leave my eyes untouched.
It has been practicing this for long.
His own Kamikaze,
Where it slithers on a body
full of life,
and separate lifelessly, into a bright void

Reincarnations? Nirvana?
Does it even feel like tasting them?
Just an inexplicable bursting orgasm,
that bursts its body into a million pieces.

Yeah, suck on that!
You all Religious Dickheads.

© Shashank Bhardwaj


How do you define complexity?
A thing that is complex in nature?

Like the blood is red in colour,
because it is red.

It doesn’t make any sense
It does make all the sense.

My breath shall leave me someday,
because it is not entirely mine

It does make me fear death.
It does not make me fear anything.

My heart yearns for someone, again and again.
Because I cannot understand the yearning.

It does make me yearn for her.
It does make me want to stop.

I don’t know why.
Why do I not know?

© Shashank Bhardwaj

The Facade of Symmetry


How brutal would it be,
to draw a line in the air on something
of interest, with your eyes:
to be in awe of the subdued parallax
and then simply call it beautiful.

Won’t your fingers itch before doing so?
Won’t they feel the need to caress the surface
before labeling its existence beyond question?

Won’t your tongue go dry of thirst
seeing its colors untasted and unspilled.

Do you really love,
symmetry to this extent?
You forgot the chaos
you were born in.

© Shashank Bhardwaj