Sandeep Kulshrestha's Poetry

I am so lame   and insane   I give up my defenses   and bruises   yes,  they eventually hurt   when I say this to her   this is what I fear   when I walk the altar of hopelessness   some  amiable voice echoes   and I am back to the non-detached me   trying to relate   with what is not me   Dejection and  humiliation  are words   with some men made meaning   I don’t have words to say   on what I feel   In Finnish, the word is “ nöyryytys ”,   for humiliation   and it is just a word   my soul shreds   and you see it   When I walk out in this    smelting summer night   with all these conflicting echoes   all I hear is just noise   the day I tear it apart   It all becomes so vocally loud   I thought s...

I gift her shampoos, whole wheat flour, soaps and instant oats pencils and home food not porcelain mugs, vases or bouquet of fancy candies nor DVDs or moonlit nights it is my way of saying something that something is yet unknown to me or to my mind the word “something” is limiting “everything” has unlimited exposition she brings the gift of selfies with a face full of pain and tears much more than this she gifts me unlimited horizons of laughing over situations that are gifted to us she likes those gifts or that’s what she says she gives me love (not a cliché) of the kind that’s unimaginable it is beautiful than love itself although it is not love it is neither anything else she shows her recently shampooed hair and I see the scene in a slow motion and the aroma touches my nostrils and she washes her face at a tap in an open-air café and let the water dry, naturally she loves the coolness of the water and I look at...

Flushed skin  when the charm uplifts when she touches new spark of naivety The caress of triviality is not something she raves about or tracing the DNA of her passions she doesn't care for the lyrics or the music she unravels the deep trance of her passion the drunkard lover the curious seducer she does not fight back her emotions or rawness of a deep touch she translates the language of  trespassing in her intimate monologues as her own self she is pristine out of the fresh sunshine, into the wild her walk, her inconsistent chivalry her demands, her concupiscence  it is not she but the verve I desire her as she wants me to femme passionnée Play the music to accompany the thoughts of the poem by clicking here

Truth be told I do not necessarily love or trust flowers They become a poignant humming song for my poetry which is delusionary as it is emerging out of my love for you Few steps aside, there is a bloom let me say it this way on one side they bloom and sell me the free fragrance on the other side of this road is this tiny foliage of the greens and some signs of a lost lake and I see you with a perpetual freshness A music plays somewhere It sounds almost like a cliché I mean the music as if I am a part of a movie It is warm and seemingly romantic but you look at the flowers and feel safe a look of naivety of love and I know your heart It is you that I cherish not because the bougainvillea has bloomed your silent smile fleeces my heart and the flowers, well let us smell the air, for now the shade of Bougainvillea is proudly feasting on your lips and the Sun is shining sporadically on this serendipitous autumn ...