When we made love all afternoon

Innocently

you had put the curtains on

but you liked the Sunlight

trespassing the monolith wall

of your living room

you had other plans

to light a dim fluorescent light

which made you look

a lesser shade of pink

or was it your boldness

painted by a blush?

When i touched your cheeks

to verify the pink

your lips opened

voluntarily

not concealing

your vulnerability

and we kissed

in reality

or was that a metaphor

hitting on

my hallucination?

We probed each other

and there was no diagnosis

and no remedy

speed was an option

but a pale yellow light

sneaking through

the windowpane

had a message

with a wink

that the afternoon was still alive

and we had much time

to ourselves

We fired up the afternoon sun

and i shut the pink dull light

from my eyes

your curves emanated a light of their own

and your voice

accentuated the arousal

we made a meeting with our naughty selves

concealed from the afternoon

and the extended afternoon,

which many claim to be an onset of early evening

didn’t ask us to stop

we couldn’t

so we didn’t

The curtains are still not open

Comments

Rise with you

When the sun stretches its golden arms, and the morning whispers your name, I think of you, steady as the tide, warm as the hearth, a beacon in the quiet storm. Your laughter, a melody that dances through the chaos, a song I hum when the world grows heavy. Your spirit, unyielding, a tree rooted deep, its branches reaching for the infinite sky. In your presence, I am more. Not because you fill me, but because you remind me of the light I carry within. You are the mirror that reflects the beauty I often forget. Together, we are a symphony— not perfect, but alive, each note a testament to the joy of being seen, of being known. You are my safe harbour, my compass in the wild, my friend, my love, my vista And when the night falls, and the stars blink awake, I will rise with you not above, not below, but besides, always besides, in the quiet grace of this boundless love. And when the night descen...

Morning Walk

I was smitten by the silence of the dawn, or perhaps it was the dew that clung to the grass like a secret too fragile to speak. The trees stood tall, their leaves whispering stories of nights spent wrestling the wind, and I thought it was just me but the sparrow, too, carried the weight of its nest, the ant its crumb, the spider its web, each thread trembling with the burden of holding on. The sun rose, not with a fanfare, but with a quiet insistence, pushing through the haze like a hand reaching for a forgotten name. A butterfly brushed past, its wings a flicker of pale yellow against the orange sky, and I thought it was just me but the flower, too, had its petals to unfurl, its nectar to offer, its brief, bright moment in the sun. The path stretched ahead, winding through the shadows and the light, and I thought it was just me but the earth, too, had its cracks to mend, its roots to...

Hope

Hope is a green vine, climbing the walls of the forgotten, its tendrils reaching for the sun even in the hour of shadows. It does not ask permission— it grows, it persists, it wraps itself around the ruins and whispers, “Me Voici” Hope is the sea, vast and untamed, its salt on your lips, its rhythm in your chest. It does not sleep it rises, it falls, it carries you even when you cannot see the shore. Hope is the bread broken in the darkest hour, the warmth of shared hands, the taste of something that will not let you starve. It does not explain it feeds, it sustains, it says, Come, eat, there is enough for everyone. Hope is the bird that sings at the edge of dawn, its song a thread stitching the torn sky. It does not falter it calls, it rises, it reminds you that the night is not eternal. Hope is the hand you did not expect to hold yours, the voice that says your name when the silence is too loud. It does not abandon it stays, it breathes, it says, You are not alone...

Sandeep Kulshrestha's Poetry

Search This Blog