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Sandeep Kulshrestha Poem
Her Red coloured dress resembled
a Venetian house
which lay besides the gondola
in an unrealized dream
as the Gondola retreated
through the hazy eyes of the canal
the house kept on getting bigger
painting one part of the lake
with a mixed coating of
the red
and the green accumulated piece
of the ubiquitous waters
but still red was the colour
green was the envy
she was herself
with the poets
while a poet
let one more dream die
Copyright © Sandeep Kulshrestha | Year Posted 2014
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Sandeep Kulshrestha Poem
crispiness of the aroma
churlishness of butter, hidden flavours
of its own fragrance
out of the oven
into my mouth
concealing my pleasure
sinking into the soft cushions of the nibbled layers
the unsuspected tongue
relishing it
with a fervent cup of
hot tea
on a post rainy day
sunny, half dry and half wet
translucent doors of the bakery
the beam of the sun
enhancing the memoirs of the baked dishes
as the aroma reaches the nose
and the body
an autumn morning
page 3 rumors of affairs
bites and bites of bites
Copyright © Sandeep Kulshrestha | Year Posted 2014
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Sandeep Kulshrestha Poem
The first person who grew wheat
would have been called “wheat”
and hence the local chieftain and village folks
would have given a nomenclature
to his discovery,
honoring it with his name
it would have been his name
or something rhyming with it
like “cheat”, “heat” or “eat”
or perhaps “treat”
there was probably someone called “gehu”
in India, who grew this grain
and there is a resembling treatise of words
“gay hun” (I am gay) proclaiming sexual choice
giving it a contemporary feel
of an alternative orientation
were they different people who grew it
at the same time, in the different parts of the world?
was it really Mr. Wheat
Or el trigo, blé or weizen
Spanish, French or German
was the wandering original Mr. Wheat
or cheat or heat or the Russian pshenitsy
who propagated this and we missed his chronicles?
and we missed his chronicle of travels
and basic grassroots experiences
of the genesis of rotis and cakes
of flavor stimulants, of bakes
and of the grass of wheat
for a figure conscious succulent lass
wheat and all its ontology
and the first one’s ecstasy
whosoever it was
had a higher calling
than the current day diminution
Copyright © Sandeep Kulshrestha | Year Posted 2014
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Sandeep Kulshrestha Poem
It is self tormenting
and arguably a case of poetic voyeurism
I do not like muses
I like them closer than that
no definition, just being there
the style, the perfume
and art of a persona
sitting next to me, talking
while I, for a brief span of a second
close my eyes and reopen
in an intellectual daze
Copyright © Sandeep Kulshrestha | Year Posted 2014
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Sandeep Kulshrestha Poem
Out of my seven girlfriends
Six and a half are married
one is conscientiously married
to her inner, juxtaposed situation
the second is married to the innuendos
of a rat race,
sitting all day without a back rest
even on a gloomy dark clouds day
the third has chosen a man
to quench her hunger of joint fallacies
of anger, of greed, of plastic smiles
the fourth has married the contours
of self obsessed melancholic constructs
fifth is an abstract piece of broken clay
married to her enigma, which shows in her gaze
the sixth is on an eclectic bond
with her own split self,
a merger of effervescent intellect and a cosmic zombie
the first half of the seventh is unmarried
lives that part as a quintessential single,
open, vulnerable, desolate, creative
the second half is married
to her traverse past
which insulates her from future decadence
Copyright © Sandeep Kulshrestha | Year Posted 2014
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Sandeep Kulshrestha Poem
The city doesn’t need any elevators
Or escalators or anything to push people up
There are no clouds in this brightened city
no bourgeoisie emancipation, no atypical beauty
silicon bosoms out on the overstretched skies
mechanical tirades of the undiluted selves
the cubicles at Grande elevators are full of
lowered shallow spaces of begotten lies
should the company now start manufacturing soaps?
or narcissistic pleasures of the condescending physical realm
and illegal sex tapes with real orgasms?
But would any of these have any upsurge
On the emotionless lonely workers
who have thrown people up all this while
keeping a low profile in this profane job
the crowded elevators do not inspire any orgy
or clichéd electricity failure induced seductions
there are just too many of them (not the orgies!!)
the office of Grande, meaning big and great and great as desolate
is densely illuminated with the low intensity money saver bulbs
waiting to die their organic death as they are un-switchable
the products, by the way, are now “auto maintained”
the elevator which doesn't work well
changes itself
the one which is an escapist shoots itself up,
beyond the last floor, turning into precarious ash
the loneliness in the office, which is on the ground floor
is only equal to a fugitive bird
without a pinch of shelter in this extended, tall,
gyrating and syrupy city
Copyright © Sandeep Kulshrestha | Year Posted 2014
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Sandeep Kulshrestha Poem
grains of dew
forming a softening glaze
falling tediously
from your hairline
freshly stocked
unabashed stare of longing
Copyright © Sandeep Kulshrestha | Year Posted 2014
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Sandeep Kulshrestha Poem
bread makes life interesting
more interesting than the evil thoughts
as interesting as the wine and the trees
and the dusty shades of the sunset
brasserie, sweet shops, smell of the baked wheat
a cool breeze over the alps, smell of freshly baked thoughts
over a hot cup of tea
this is what a dear life should be
in the moment, right now
over a loaf of bread,
any way you want, any way you like
pão torna a vida interessante
mais interessante do que os maus pensamentos
tão interessante quanto o vinho e as árvores
e os tons empoeirados do pôr do sol
brasserie, lojas de doces, cheiro do trigo cozido
uma brisa fresca sobre os alpes, cheiro de pensamentos fresquinhos
mais de uma xícara de chá quente
isso é o que a vida deve ser caro
no momento, agora
sobre um pedaço de pão,
do jeito que quiser, como quiser
Copyright © Sandeep Kulshrestha | Year Posted 2014
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Sandeep Kulshrestha Poem
When i fill you up
and channelize your hole
towards pleasurable moans
i love your shrieking tremors
of pleasure
and when my balls touch
your outer sanctum
stars just break free and burst
When i lick your pussy
inside out
and watch your face
I see a definition of
Happiness
and that is something i love
your orgasmic look
is something to die for
It's like liquid fire
in all its rapture
I love filling all of your holes
and you welcome me
with wild abandon
we touch, we get tender
we get aggressive, we raise the bar
the way you spread your legs for me
and make me love you
is difficult to define
but it is pure bliss, pure love
We our brains out
the act becomes a poetic expression
of recklessness
when i fill you up
I just become what I am naturally me,
your lover
The thrusts, the kisses
your tender breasts and your nipples
which i suck as if there is no tomorrow
your tender caress of my dick
and all the naked touches
make me love you
more and more, evermore
When i fill you up
I release myself
and take you in
as my beloved
Copyright © Sandeep Kulshrestha | Year Posted 2018
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Sandeep Kulshrestha Poem
Sparkled kindness
benevolent serendipity
sordid eloquence
torched succulence
shimmering shift
candid concupiscence
Copyright © Sandeep Kulshrestha | Year Posted 2014
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