Bharath Nandibhatla

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Bharath Nandibhatla (Landlocked Sailor)

Loves wordplay and is obsessed with puns. (Quite a sickening obsession) Writing is catharsis when in crisis. A deep passion, every other time. Most of my works are fiction. Please don't ping me asking if I'm fine. :/ P.S.: Here's the link to my interview, if you wanna know me better: https://stories.yourquote.in/the-landlocked-sailor-that-tells-stories-meet-bharath-one-of-yqs-best-writers-f58ab189704f

www.seethehologram.wordpress.com

Top tags: yqbaba perksofbeingawallpaper verseworth yourquoteandmine failentineday
Here's one right question,
after a series of wrongs:
"Why does it take a woman
to call a man, a gentleman?"

I am a man. 
I've been a victim. #MeToo
I am a man.
Gentleman? 
I can't answer that.
The world dictates,
I need a woman to answer that.
Pity!

It's half hour past International Men's day. Posting now, because ALL men are beasts when it's dark. #Men #MeToo

20 NOV AT 0:32

Abuse. Torture.
Burn. Peel.
All that you can do.
Glowing. Pale.
Cracked. Coloured.
All it can be.

It's Here. There.
Everywhere on you.
They say that about God,
but He's mostly on the inside.

It has different shades and hues.
Like our thoughts, just more visible.
If only it said what we're on the inside too!

Black, and you're better as a slave.
Brown, and you're made for skilled labour.
Fairer, oh boy, you hit the jackpot.

So much for a colour, a tint, a hue. 
Only if all of it were true.

Beneath all of it,
aren't we all kith and kin?

S for Skin

#Wordrobe #SForSkin Pooja Arora There goes your challenge. S for Shoe, tomorrow! Thanks for introducing me to this concept! 😊

17 NOV AT 23:28

Broken, he was, like those sand castles.
Hollow, he was, like those conch shells.
(Full poem in caption)

//Finders Keepers Broken, he was, like those sand castles. Hollow, he was, like those conch shells. Years into making that pearl in his oyster shell, seconds into the world stealing it from him, he lay there, desolate and despaired. She, a mermaid, an intermediate. Somewhere between him and the sea. But so was he, at this very moment. An intermediate, between life and death. He, always a fan of extremes, now in a seemingly endless limbo. She, finding a life in those intermediates, now craving to get into one of those extremes. Rendered faceless by the world, he now wears a rock in its place. Rocks, lifeless as you know, since always. Yet, your marks on them stay etched forever. Why though? Aren't there enough masks already? Why did the world have to steal his face? Why? Declared a half-human by the world, she now craves to be a whole something. Half-human, for once, sounds more human. A whole human was up to no good anyway! Why though? Isn't she better off being a mermaid? Why crave for limbs when she got fins? Why? He lost his pearl, or so was he told. She found it, her ticket to being a whole. He lost his sleep, or so did he think. She woke up, from her sea slumber. She found his heart, the pearl. She found him, the oyster shell. His dreary, hollow frame had a heart she could tame. Her smooth, swaying fins found his sea within, to swim through. And like they say, Finders Keepers! She rids him of his insomnia, he rids her of her slumber. Together, they lay there, somewhere between land and sea. On the bay, wholesome and hearty, between extremes, in our dreams. //Lost & Found

12 NOV AT 16:42

Sewing was never my forte.
When she left me in pieces,
I tried sewing me back.

Turns out, I sewed me
into someone else.






And I'm never the same again.
I never will be, and that's okay!

Sailors love to sea, not to sew. Okay, I give it to you, that was a lame pun. *Scoffs* -_-

11 NOV AT 17:18

I am a slut
stripping down
to naked truth.
I am a whore
stripping down
to a naked night.
I'm that twilight,
between day and night.

You, my friend,
are no masked mystery.
You, my friend,
are tomorrow's 
forgotten history.

I'm all of us, in bits and pieces. I'm all of us, as a whole!

8 NOV AT 23:52