Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“It had been long, ever since he made his palace out of pebbles chosen by the beach-side at the island of solitude. He came out to ensure the walls are ever so strong to carry on with confinement of emotions that ran high and low every now and then, but it must remain inside those walls, was thought when he built it high and wide. For once the noise leaks out you are no more on your own; you are joined by several others, for there are so many looking out, in a never ending search, probably forever.

He found pebbles falling, drowning in their own abyss, their colors losing its sheen, oh how colorful were they, when he chose them carefully walking by beach that fine evening along with young solitary shadow. It was such a joy, youthfulness, that summer carries till late august, before it starts raining and pours itself all over, ruining what had been smiling out till now in all its vigor. What follow are dark gloomy days, beneath clouds, black and grey, mocking over one for being loud and gay. 

He walked some more, looked over walls of his palace, one he built one day while picking pebbles of solitude by the sea-side of life. It was in bad condition; it asked for repair, it complained to him of being an unfair lover, condemned him for being liar. After-all one must take care of what he created out of love. He somehow understood, and walked by keeping his neck down, eyes on ground just in the line of tows, neglecting all the voices those walls, that palace screamed of, for he knew it was going to happen so, he had known it all the while, for a palace of solitude was supposed to be tomb of dead wanderer. What else, he wondered…”

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 25/11/2014

Addicted to Sadness!

Addicted to sadness

As if one addicted to rise

Only to fall back, and yet again

As if one addicted to be found

Only to be lost, and yet again

As if one addicted to love

Only to be hated, and yet again

Addicted to sadness

As if one addicted to smiles

Only to cry, and yet again

As if one addicted to stare upon

Only to have tears in eyes, and yet again

As if one addicted to hope

Only to be left pitied, and yet again

Addicted to sadness

As if one addicted to warmth

Only to be frozen beneath coldness of time, and yet again

As if one addicted to fly high

Only to be left grounded, dusted, and yet again

As if one addicted to be seen, heard

Only to be left unseen, unheard beneath shadows, noise, and yet again

Addicted to sadness

As if one addicted to keep walking

Only to be chained and yet again

As if one addicted to scream

Only to be left gagged and yet again

As if one addicted to dream

Only to have pieces of self scattered and yet again

Addicted to sadness

As if one addicted to lights

Only to be at peace in darkness and yet again

As if one addicted to silence

Only to have heart sunk in chaos and yet again

Addicted to sadness

As if one addicted to live

Only to die and yet again

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 17/11/2014

Journey!

"It’s a long way down boy, a long way down

For you go north, or you go south

Choose east or west, as you may please

It would not change the fact dear boy

That you have just arrived late

Late, not as if went any wrong way

Neither behind butter-flies, nor behind where angels fly

Oh dear, it was just as if you were slow

But to walk upon a hill, you must not frown

And walk little steps, and hold your back down

Must not let winds push you away, while you ask it to show you the way

Show you the way, you could have asked that little fire-fly

This roamed in dark nights behind a mango tree

A tree, you crossed on your way up and down

It sang you songs, it showed you things unseen

It watched you watch stars whole night and dream

And every morning you woke up to walk again

It followed you silently to another night it seems

And reminded you to hold your eyes steady

For being too delicate, dreams might been drown

Oh! But here you are boy, here comes the flat

You might take a yawn, may keep your back straight

But not more than a moment my boy, no more than a moment

For journey remains too long, and much more pits to fill

You better keep walking, and hold your heart,

Sing it a song, whistle if you will, for

It is long way down dear boy, long way down still."

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 10/11/2014

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“There is something poisonous about moonlights in winter, something viciously cruel. As if smiling upon you as you look above, hopeful of being soothed, to feel and touched by its coldness, for it has been too warm whole day amidst all that chorus of life’s hit and misses, you wish to soak yourself in such coldness as a bathtub full of ice, where even slicing out wrist would not let you die so easily and keep you at the edge, in a sort of trance, like a drunkard outside a bar-full of noise, sitting by the street puffing out of his almost burnt out cigarette. And with all such hopes while you look above, sitting alone on the roof, towards moon, you find him smiling but not that usual soft smiles, it is that cruel smile one you find usually in eyes of a trader who offers his cheap drug at double price at night, while you plead for a discount, but he will not, for he knows you must buy and have it, why should he?. You find it poisoning your blood, turning your nerves dark, as if diluting your skin with that darkness around, you find yourself falling into an abyss. You do not find moonlight soothing anymore; you find even a slight touch of it frightening, you just wish to get rid of it.” 

Trembling Shadow!

Trembling hand

Holding a glass of scotch

Like standing numb

Amidst downing sand

Wake-up

Hold still

Do not let it take over

Scream if you must

Cry if you will

Spill blood if you wish

For smell of it would keep you high

And will let you bear the pain

While your nerves get drained

Slowly, silently

Fading away

In darkness

For that being its sacred adobe

Where it finds space to breathe

While running away beyond lights, and in its slumber

As they call you dead

Or drunkard insane, if they wish

You must not run away

While burning down

Yet standing still

For to fill, the voids

To fill the space, dried and falling around

What could but your imaginations, be

Your salvation

Would fall through

And free, you will

If not lost in

Hollowness of own shadows

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 23/09/2014

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

Pursuit! Such damn word, driving us insane, here and there, day and night, awake or asleep. You ask what it is about, hell knows. For it changes color like a lizard, playing hide and seek through bushes and while you keep on charging at it, running behind like a stupid maniac, you do not want it once you have it. It is dead already, you think so while putting it down. You find it all messed up like a coin dropped in shit. You do not want to carry it anymore. You leave it like that, disgusted and walk away looking for another piece of metal while scanning through bunch of garbage. Alas!

The desire stays still, like a cockroach inside sink pipes, waiting to walk out once its dark and to give you nightmares. Oh don’t you sleep, they might even hunt you down. They love licking your face, while laying their eggs upon your sleeping eyes, only to leave you blind, to not to let you see anything else but those, Pursuits!

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer –

“It was not first time, he felt corrupted, it happened often. May be that is the tragedy of being vague, having no certain feelings. He had thought this way it would be easier to wander through, may be, yet it often turned out to be one that wrecked his body and heart, left him feeling polluted and lost. He did not wish to portray self as innocent, he knew it is none but his own thoughts that makes him sick, and he must stand tight to bear the beating it brought back.

May be we all often make up our mind, imagine things in better and worse; for good and bad doesn’t excite anymore, only to fall victimized, behind closed doors of confession rooms, where they ensures nobody could hear you scream than your own solitude.

Alas! What could feel worse than feeling of being fallen to own prejudice, self.”