The tongue is heartless servant, it slithers on your neck and lips, like a snake devoid of warm flesh, I feel the warmth and the tremble in cleavage, but I am cursed as in Eden.

It smothers the bra slowly, peeking within with satanic eyes, the warmth is a thirst for a thing made of out flesh, it multiples while inside, caressing, pressing, Disappearing with eyes,
Your breath is a kiss of blaze burning and I was a winter worth nurturing with hands choking my existence

The breasts caressed slowly, into a tumultuous moment of touch, I trace the tips to its origin, feeling them erect and ready for to pleased, unhook now and lie down, let me taste the eden before being banished forever.

An Ode to Dying Winter

What is this heart?
if not a emotion driven by a flood of questions?
I lay shirtless in an unknown darkness,
Somebody robbed me of a known darkness,

Every nerve has a memory
Hence, I have no words to describe winter,
It reminds me of months of change,
It now reminds me to assess of the change.

There are no pomegranates or apples in my gardens,
It is just the ice soaked grass,
my toes hurt when I trespass my property.
For what?
I cannot change the end of winter,
If Winter was here, can Spring be far behind?

Nobody should ever listen to the aches of comfort,
of a winter of campfire and whiskey
You get used to it slowly,
Now the bottles are empty,
Some broken,
Some lost.

I wait in the edge of a land of disappearing snow,
thinking was it all worth it?
Yes it was.
Somebody tell my heart once again.This.

– SB

A Fixation

An orange bliss breaks billowing :
the blue evening, passing out,
choked by warm hands colored in flames.

Witness the sky
tying this blue brightness consensually,
behind it’s cloud back.
Sea dipped fingers feeling the warmth closing in,
as flames tease the air around, with uneven breaths.
Maybe this is how, It rains in winter.

a little skewness, such as this,
shames the clear ponds
and the monuments still glistening
with untouched marble
bearing the tasteful reflection.

But I sit aghast,
and perplexed over such a fixation.
The nights shall be a little difficult :
dreaming of soft ropes,
of slowly kissing the haunting eyes.

– Shashank Bhardwaj

Application of Rejection

I submit and resubmit, wait in a queue with my eyes closed, the winter creeps in, slowing the process, the drink caves in , slowing the process , services are still affected , the heart still awaits a resolution, its not a ‘it happens’ or ‘shall stop’ anymore. It is a flood of memories I guess that I am trying to stop by drowning, the oxygen shall deplete to unacceptable values one day or the other, it shall fuse the long winter in me soon. Help me, as nobody can , the rejection is a sweet pain to understand. 8 dreams gone by, a lot in the queue. My heart turned to an office of government, overthrow it now for once. Contact the department of dreams , submit an application of overflowing dreams . Let me know if someone did and was happy in the end, without being summoned by the department of love.

Deciphering a Red Silence

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

A Winter with no Light

White : a color of absence
a touch of nothingness,
swallows a village overnight.
The remains are prayers
and candle lights.

Preserve your warmth,
learn your exits where your body learns to regret.
A temple of belief, desolated tonight.
A sky sucked out of light, kiss of fire stolen tonight.

Seek my lips
Numb my pain with the whitest touch.
Close my eyes and listen to my hymns.
Give it a form : turn it into a music, a Carol.
My heart bleeds again and again.
Turn it into poetry tonight.
Make a tongue a poet tonight.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

A low voice and a blanket of memories

The stars become cold,
It rained last night.
The shiver kills every beauty:
Stay, do not move,
do not use your hair.
You are a symmetry now,
I am a blindfolded architect,
Let me trace your heart tonight.

My blanket has dreamed more than me,
It sees an ocean of blue at times,
to drown itself, at least once:
Warm bodies are always vulnerable,
They leave you at the sign of cold.
Or when the inhabitants are warm enough.
All relationships are paradoxical,
Just fail once, you will learn.

The skies cry for the seas.
The waves tremble to mate the sky.
The horizon is a red illusion.
We shall meet and not meet.
We shall dream and not.

Tell me, label us once as something?
or not?

Because once you label us,
we will disappear,
into things we can’t control.
Free fall into me.

You won’t regret it.