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.
Once.

You won’t regret it.

 
Promise?