Lost in Translation


My myopic eyes
in the whitewashed veins
dissolved a Solar Eclipse once,
sprinkled slowly in the transparent ponds
of vision, through a negative film of ours.

Call it now, The fate’s cruel jape.
A sky long-awaited
and devoid of sunlight
is forgotten forever.

I do remember though, the universe we created
in silence, while we lent our voices
to an air that couldn’t speak.

The negative is now a mere vicissitude of colors,
for a time that went lost in translation.


 – Shashank Bhardwaj



Let us wake up someday
in the shadow of the dreams
where your lips are the only light
and I am inured to blindness.

Guide me to them
but not by touch
for this heart
shall memorize the curves
and you will be lost forever.

A smell shall suffice,
transverse me through your body slowly.
Till it is the light only that I can smell.
The light only, I can feel.

Let me be the mirage
in the deserts of your loneliness.
You will be the river that flows within me.
We will forget the thirst at least.

Till these dreams are sublimated
and the shadows vanish,
Come, walk on the dark side
of these fragile dreams
where the music fades
as the dark green leaves
welcome our toes.

I shall teach you someday
to seek darkness in the fire
and we shall make a home out of it.
I promise.

© Shashank Bhardwaj

A shadow that hides.


I am sloshed,
barely walking,
This warm air makes me dizzy,
“A-12″,”A-12”, I keep repeating
to avoid being the uninvited drunk poet
in the wrong hall.

It is time
I settle down on a chair
four rows are empty in front of me.
I curse the whirlings
and the whooshes
and the random fucking noises
in my head:
The Bubbly(Beer) shall drown all of you tonight.
Just wait.
I am death, I shall show you.

They announce, the best five poems.
I do not remember anything after that.
The Beer certainly helped.

An abnormal life
turned to 5 repeated deaths sentences.
I hold a friendly grin and
leap onto the burning ground.

I lit a cigarette
and think of reading
more of Celine.
My shadow hides a little more today,
I can’t blame him.

That crazy French doctor who wrote sometimes
was right:

The Beginning of Genius
is being scared shitless

Is the Bar still open? , I think.

Damn! I again forgot to ask,
When to submit next.

– Shashank Bhardwaj


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.