Sandeep Kulshrestha's Poetry

  Sometimes the illusion of a happening happens sometimes the emotions roll over sometimes the pathogens of spilled over desire sabotages the pilgrimage of the heart sometimes it is good to divert attention towards the non-attentive nerves sometimes it is okay to be what we are sometimes it is really a exhilaration of the existential to be  in those moments of rapture where time ceases to exist and you and me measure the moment through a deeper turmoil of being alive sometimes it is good to fall sometimes the brain functions paralyzes and the raw nerves get pricked up sometimes we gain our sanity by responding to the deep trance of the emotional and the physical Sometimes we need to paraphrase guilt when love envelopes our being, there is an absence of guilt and presence of something divine, something which cannot be deciphered, defined or  even transferred to someone else's perspective What happened was something that would have happened in a dream Sometimes there is a n...

Possibly, it is love no it is not merely plain admiration nor intoxicating lust If I think about you and lean in those thoughts, unpossessed yet embedded and get in the elements of non duality, oneness of the body and mind I know it is metaphysical and raw, physical still lust is a powerful word I am powerless, grounded in my own insufficiencies  and a victim of my own world and my world connects organically to your dreamy acceptance yes, it is love I don't have a flowery definition neither a phrase to sell but a moment of peace, within me connects discreetly to you

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 ...

Her little self is an ocean of amorousness while she precipitates an avalanche of giving in all of the unwinding trajectories of being a consciousness of sorts a serendipitous journey where she meets the tumultuous path that intertwines nostalgia, love and lost desires her presence is pure bliss who dare not rise in love? I see her in a distance metaphorically but, stays somewhere very near it is undefinable yet true all of what heart feels and knows is not always explainable In my dream today morning when the dawn was still yawning I held her close while I smelled the dew the nervous and frozen petals of the rose suddenly were agile, blooming the winter morning sun kissed her cheeks while I was tempted to do so her murmurs broke my dream She crosses those paths which a selected few attempt she is a desire fugitive she is the smitten universe

I passed by our favorite café today morning  the place where food was uninspiring and the ever-smiling steward was Intimidating while nice, wanting us to leave as soon as we were done our strategy was different, however we couldn’t leave In a conversation vacuum that place had an art gallery although the art on display was to an extent, incorrigible and dark, kind of clumsy or many a times, superficial the art gallery is still there so is the steward the only thing missing is you and me, talking over the same uninspiring food your voice was invigorating nevertheless I used to watch you eat, while talking continuously those infectious voices loom large in my clever emotive mind the sounds of cutlery, the cafe music, the winter afternoons, your presence all of it certainly, in the complete histrionics Is what the heart transpired in all its innuendos all of the last month and more Your voice in all its trajecto...

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 th...