nidhibhasin

[nidhibhasin]

there’s something about opening a bottle alone

something about his honey eyes

and the swirl of golden liquids in thick glasses

the few strands of brown hair

that fell to his forehead

something about the sound of clinking ice

and a deep laughter that never reached his eyes

something about the burn in my throat

his bronze skin, the scent of oudh and musk

something about the regular amount

that no longer intoxicates me

sweetheart my words don’t go beyond

ink and paper anymore

.

.

you see, I need more whiskey, need more time

for a man who doesn’t exist beyond poetry

and my poetry that still doesn’t rhyme

-Nidhi Bhasin

#writerscreed #twcpoetry #poeticstories #poetryportal #poetselixir #spilled ink #poets on tumblr #poetry #aspiring writer #writers on tumblr

[nidhibhasin]

“Everything seems okay. And then: a word, a line, a picture, a song…”

— Thoughtkick

[nidhibhasin]

I don’t mind getting old

but the world hates me for it

my mirror shows me hideous reflections

the men find me boring

the aunties frown, “rotting womanhood”

tragedy

I write about the same man

can’t let go of the comfort in his brown eyes

his voice, gone, but haunting

he touches me like a ghost every night

I am a fucking maniac at 3 am (chuckles)

tragedy

I am a grand failure

everyday, 6.20 pm, I stare at the subway tracks,

wondering if I jump

and see my dead father, how do I tell him

his prized daughter turned out a loser?

tragedy

-Nidhi Bhasin

#writerscreed #twcpoetry #poeticstories #poetryportal #poetselixir #spilled ink #poetry #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #tragedy #aspiring writer

[nidhibhasin]

men like that

like you

the ones with soft, brown eyes

eyes that look at me like I’m worth worship

something surreal, almost devine

not another ugly immortal

in his gaze, I am the starry night

the ocean itself

your eyes, like pools of honey,

warm, drowsy, glazed as if intoxicated

on the love we just made

baby, you deserve red roses

soft kisses showered all over your face

you deserve words that read like prayers

poems that end in violence so soft

it feels less like romance

more like worship

-Nidhi Bhasin

#writerscreed #twcpoetry #poeticstories #poetryportal #poetselixir #spilled ink #poetry #poets on tumblr #writers on tumblr #aspiring writer

[nidhibhasin]

It is not sadness when I write… it is nostalgia when I look at what I am today and what I will never be again. It is to see my soul stained, broken and extinguished, without the fire that burned it when I took the pen and, on the page, devoured it. It is to find myself so alone, under a sorrowful moon, without a ray of light, without a drop of madness, without a flower to be moistened by the thirst of my fingers or lips to name my silences with desire. I am finished. I'm sorry.

No es tristeza al escribir… es nostalgia al mirar lo que hoy soy y lo que ya no seré jamás. Es verme con el alma mancillada, rota y apagada, sin el fuego que la quemaba al tomar la pluma y, en la hoja, devorarla. Es encontrarme tan solo, bajo una luna apesadumbrada, sin un rayo de luz, sin una gota de locura, sin una flor que se humedezca por la sed de mis dedos ni unos labios que nombren con deseo mis silencios. Estoy acabado. Lo siento.

[nidhibhasin]

— March 2, 1912 / Franz Kafka diaries

[nidhibhasin]

but I don’t think

I even existed before you touched me

what I saw in the mirror

for twenty five years, an apparition

the ghost of some woman, I hated

a woman who never existed

I only exist in the places you’ve touched

everything else

is just smoke and ashes

.

but you don’t touch me anymore

and I’ve started to fade

the mirror is almost empty

so is my house

and my bed has become a grave

come back

touch me

only you can bring me back from death

-Nidhi Bhasin

#writerscreed #spilled ink #poeticstories #poetryportal #twcpoetry #poetselixir #poets on tumblr #poetry #poetsontumblr

[nidhibhasin]

— February 20, 1922 | Franz Kafka diaries

[nidhibhasin]

— February 21, 1911 / Franz Kafka diaries

[nidhibhasin]

we gaze at each other, we speak of dark things, we love each other like poppy and memory, we sleep like wine in the seashells, like the sea in the moon’s blood-beam.

Paul Celan

[nidhibhasin]

January 15, 1926 Journals of Anais Nin 1923-1927 [volume 3]

[nidhibhasin]

Where Does the Temple Begin, Where Does It End? Mary Oliver

[nidhibhasin]

— January 12, 1914 / Franz Kafka diaries

[nidhibhasin]

― Ivan Turgenev, Fathers and Sons (translated by George Reavy)

[nidhibhasin]

Osip Mandelstam (translated by Andrew Davis)

[nidhibhasin]

Vardges Petrosyan, Pharmacy "Ani" (translated by metamorphesque)

[nidhibhasin]

— David Cronenberg, Consumed