Bharath Nandibhatla   (Landlocked Sailor)
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A tipsy pen hungover on your gypsy soul, I shall write to you 💫
Joined 9 October 2016


A tipsy pen hungover on your gypsy soul, I shall write to you 💫
Joined 9 October 2016
Bharath Nandibhatla 2 AUG AT 12:44

There's a light behind me,
and a shadow ahead.

I know not,
if I cast my shadow,
or my shadow
projects me.
I know not,
if I obstruct light
and hence, cast
a dark shadow...
or if between
a dark shadow
and light, I lie.

-


Bharath Nandibhatla 31 JUL AT 1:22

She knew scars
were inevitable.
But she chose
the wars that
gave them.

You see,
she wore
her scars like
neon paints,
those that
glow in the dark.

-


Bharath Nandibhatla 26 JUL AT 18:06

Silence contains
words and beyond.
And words are silence
lost in translation.

A man of his word,
is surely honest.
But a man of his silence,
is self-honest.

-


Bharath Nandibhatla 25 JUL AT 11:01

"I do". "I do."
We do.
Voodoo.

•7-Word Horror•

-


Bharath Nandibhatla 20 JUL AT 1:32


Do we become who
we wage wars against?
Or do we wage wars
against our own being?

Are we just surfers
surfing over a sea?
A sea bearing colours
of a sky it'd never reach?

Are we life forms
casting shadows?
Or are we shadows
projecting a life?

Are we mere silhouettes
camouflaged in the dark?
Or are we darkness
confined to an outline?

Do the monsters under
our bed scare us?
Or do the monsters hide
under our bed, scared?

-


Bharath Nandibhatla 19 JUL AT 1:41

The waves brought forth a shell.
Conch, I believe. And hollow.
I held it close to my ear,
hoping to hear her tonight.
Heard my shells instead,
breaking from within.
Mothers you see...


• Musings of a Sea Child •

-


Bharath Nandibhatla 13 JUL AT 1:02

10-Word-Story


Love gave them wings.
She flew. He fled.
The end.


-


Bharath Nandibhatla 12 JUL AT 1:45

There was once a lonely whale,
and they'd never hear her wail.
Not that she doesn't, in this tale,
her despair so deep, and them so frail...
They think she's dumb, or worse, numb.
She thinks they're deaf, or worse, they left.
She sings in sorrow, with none to hear,
a solitude so thorough, year after year.
She'd weep, hoping for resonance,
She'd sleep, moping in dissonance.
Her kind nowhere around,
their kindness nowhere to be found.

She cries at 52Hz.
She's 52 now and it hurts.

-


Bharath Nandibhatla 9 JUL AT 0:59

My frail poems are merely
silence lost in translation.

On a canvas, I write.
Squeezing silence into verses,
smearing it across words,
silence smudged between lines.
So I urge you, my friend, to read
between these lines just as much.

My silence is lost in this translation,
but yours is here to find, between lines.

-


Bharath Nandibhatla 5 JUL AT 11:32

All pain is a call for attention,
and attention, a call for awareness.
And awareness, a call for an awakening.
So if anything, pain wakes you up.

Your suffering, however,
lets you sleep very little,
but in slumber, too long.

You lull the very pain
that wakes you up,
yet spend your waking
hours in suffering...
your soul in slumber,
but eyes wide awake.

The way to healing,
not fixing, but feeling.
Pain demands to be felt,
not fixed.

-


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