Half a Bottle of Whiskey

Let me douse a fire
that dissolves in water
by mixing it with my blood
in small sips of uncontrollable desire.

The insides shall burn, I know,
I have been there
as the brain blazes up slowly
in the incipient flames inducing
a stupor of warming numbness.

Is this how you erase memories?
Is this is how you conjure them?

The valiant bout
of drunken madness ends
as now the red-blooded eyes
seek the cold white embrace
of A Moon, hidden in clouds.

Chalices have grown cold.
Snow fondles the dark greenery outside
in a cold choking blanket of doom
that leaves behind a lullaby of silence.

The jeweled decanter
whispers to me
at the dead of the night,
as the fire, it holds
now craves for the decaying fire
within me.

I am not myself now,
I am a shadow used to the
bodily actions of a decaying body.
I am submissive and weak tonight
to this body that dances in the fire,

Incomplete scribbles still remain desolated
praying for a bloom
in the wake of the terrible hangover.
to be remembered somehow.

Is this how you become a poet?
Is this how you forget poetry?

© Shashank Bhardwaj

Gods – Paradoxical Poetry

Gods are few,
Some say only two,
Some prefer counting one,
Some abhor openly; claiming none.

Some believe it’s a he.
Some pray to it as she.
Some sacrifice blood in thy name,
Some crucify with immoral pain.

Some live and die, without seeing you.
Some fool the generations; claiming to be you.
Some meditate for years, finding you.
But the wise know, you are just an unheard story.
Neither False nor True.

Lets Taste the Sunlight – I

The night dissolved with us,
muted to the voiceless moans.
The clothes lay on the floor
as a tribute to the tempting aches,
given in to.
the first ray of dawn traces your neck
untouching your deep slumber.
My lips crave for a taste of flesh caressed with warm light.
the lips surge a tremor within you,
but you are a city used to earthquakes in moonlights.
I trace it from the neck to the breasts
notoriously ; with a hope of a early summer brewing in my heart somewhere.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

Banaras – The City of Gods.


What brings you,
a soul with veins
overdosed on fear
to a place
where everyone awaits
death in the lap of blue-bodied god.

The first fear is always Blood.

Where they pour fire
over the unmade memories
while hymning Vedic Chants
to free the unseen
in the cosmos.

A cycle repeats; I wish I was Death once, unbound.

A river that cleanses ashes
and the bodily dirt still flows;
it must be pure at least somewhere
to still flow; a deity can only cleanse
the remains of the bones,
the priests always beg to say.

A city so choked of faith,
even the unheard dogmatists piss devotions
over the lesser immortals.

A blind devotion leads to salvation; Ask the muted idols.

It’s been a long time, I have been there
I don’t remember much.
Sometimes the rain makes you forget
everything you wish for.

When the eyes shut, the brain craves to forget.

In this imaginary confluence
of life, death and everything in between
where widows wail in harmony
when the flesh turns to memories,
I have always been numb throughout,
maybe this is how, a city of gods makes you feel.


© Shashank Bhardwaj