Scribbling:
Tragedy Of Wanderer:
:What he was
made of, he often wondered. For those beats of music scattered him like a piece
of leftover clouds and those words upon blank sheet collected him like a bee
gathering honey drops one by one from those little half opened flowers. He was
vulnerable, he was hidden, he was drifting apart, he was lost in between and no
one knew when and how. He watched them pierce one by one for being unable to guard
him and what reward one could accept being failed in having an eye upon him. After
all he let himself loose. How dare he? He was the culprit. He knew it from
beginning. There was nothing to regret for. He was awaiting someone to cut him
in pieces and throw them in the backyard for eagles to celebrate. But he would
not surrender immediately; he would raise his glass high and celebrate along,
cheers! For one last time, Alas!"
~ Praveen parasar
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