Scribbling:
Tragedy of Wanderer!
“Every single note that popped out every time those fingers
fell upon rusted metallic keys bringing out sound of love and sadness, he felt
a word popping out of his skin drenched in his own blood. Disguised he thought
of them, yet could not help but carry it to the nearby bed of roses, only to
lay down beside, watching her half-asleep, half awake, nodding lazily to his
lips, kind of assurance that she has not yet deserted him to the thrones below
that bed. And he could not help but to watch her amidst that never-ending
solitude; as the night grew darker and melancholic, as she fell asleep as sound
as that veil of darkness young night had come holding upon, as those roses dried
out faster than his heartbeats (being beside her!) made way for thrones lying
beneath to shatter his dreams, tearing out his skin, making him bleed and to
find his words floating through. And he remained clueless of that face
ever-again, bleeding whole night; bleeding words of solitude, yet holding onto
that pen, not to get drown. Alas!”
~ Praveen Parasar
No comments:
Post a Comment