Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“He kept staring at words, and words at him. They sat in front of each other, without any movement, they kept still as if a slight movement will cause the bombs explode held between them by the tip of the nib kept upon that white blank sheet and leave a trail of bloodied stain that would scream of its innocence out of black and blue dots. They feared devastation. They sat motionless, staring into each other, as if lovers, who out of too much love feels reluctant to touch fearing being melt by a single touch Or as if enemies, who at sudden confrontation goes numb on whether to shoot or to hide. They kept still, very careful, not to let go a single glance, eyes into each other as looking into own in front of mirror minutely noticing small fiber like nerves inside, as if they might be carrying some secret clue to bring one down. They kept staring and for long time, till there were tears wetting their eyelashes. Then there were thousands of them staring at each other through image in every drop and the number grew and continuously, till they could not see each other but only images, floating in dark space, whole night.”

~ Praveen Parasar

Paradox!

Paradox!

Thirsty

One walks miles, and thousands

Arrives, only to fear being drowned at a single touch of droplet

Plight

One cries for salvation, and many

Saved, one feels lost of pleasures endured at the backdrop of pain

Sad

One appears lost beneath clouds grey, gloomy

Happy, one remembers silently being drenched in tears at midnight

Lost

One looks for a walkway amidst dark, and none

Trekked out and about, one carves for smell of wild grass, bits and pieces still lying upon sleeve

Blind

One being unable to see what lies around, might be

Eyes, they miss the charisma of imagination at times that shows, and beyond

Unknown

One remains unheard, unseen like stars, distant-hidden twinkles

Known, stacked behind cages, flames diminished, to fake one must and glitters abode

Wounds

One stitches it in solitude, shivering, bloodied

Healed, one touches the marks, in hope to find it little ajar, still…

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 1/12/2014

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer –

“Some bonds, connects us as if to keep us alive, to bring out of us what we could not ever on our own. Like bonds hidden, unseen or even unknown to us for most parts yet working all the time like force of gravitation. Keeping us at the edge, yet keeping our momentum intact. For such bonds are so strong and macro, we largely miss out to even recognize it, even to have a thought of it most of time it skips our visuals, deceives our intelligence, belies to our thoughts and yet when we finally get caught in mirage of imaginations even momentarily we feel it as we feel universe while laying down beneath a star-studded sky in a rather dark nights. Though unlike force of gravitation, these might not have any name, any guise to get a reorganization but they are always at work, in conscious or subconscious, making us feel safe and warm, something similar to when we think of bright sun in the middle of a cold day.

~ Praveen Parasar

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“He looked at his freshly washed finger nails of his hand, he liked them particularly for being kind of attractive, long, pink, smooth as he touched them he felt kind of kinky about them. He felt to lick them touch them all over his body, for it felt kind of famine part, soft and seductive. He often praised his hand-nails while disguised nails of his feet, for they were dirty, in bad shape and for sure a turn-off. He could not even masturbate if his legs were spread in front of him and nails looked upon as if an unclean aged old neighbor peeking through window of neighborhood wall for a chat he could never connect to, like rising prices of vegetables, for what did it matter when they could kill a turkey in their backyard and have a feast for no price. He hated it specifically. He hated those nails of his leg-fingers more than anything at that moment.”

~ Praveen Parasar

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“No more a fantasy, a reality, a dream, a nightmare, I saw a shadow walking past me and i felt...strange...I thought to ask it for a light or just to start a random chat, about weather may be or about stores being too crowded today, does it matter anyway, and after all there must be a conversation-as what I thought. But before i could even whisper or later scream out to get attention of that shadow passing by, it was well beyond reach, beyond even sight almost, like that last hint of light by the end of dusk before night embraces it all, sudden as it happened, as always, you see that drop of light, you think of capturing it, you act in a fraction of second clinching your fist, yet what you remain left with is handful of darkness that grows over you by the time you shake it off your palm, as if sands by the beach that finds its way to all over your skin once you think of entering those thriving, waters, full of life walking by, Only to find yourself corrupted to core, drenched in salty moisture, sandy winds, dark skies and a moon hovering atop hoping to be given way by clouds that every now and then abduct it without any hesitation, leaves it in a kind of taint that never goes away, one could even see those tainted marks in broad day-light as that lifeless piece of rock appears before dusk in skies of eastern parts, awaiting for darkness to take over, for there are some lives that breaths well only in the lap of night.”

~ Praveen Parasar

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“To scribble, for some a hobby one loves as gardening and watering their flower, for some a duty to be accomplished before being off to bed, for some a journey one travels far and wanders, wonders away only to come back-put it all down of things seen-unseen-heard-unheard, for some a necessity as if to breathe, to feed-to wake-up as to sleep, to some it remains that bitter flavor upon tip of that glass, as if bitter could bring sweetness in the words for someone to be able to read them even and to some it remains a fire-unburnt inside a piece of coal, pressed beneath world, lost beyond space and darkness that rules those stories only to glow and glow brighter in nights that finds them lay burning by the firepot slowly, silently as if cherishing every fraction of it, for that single moment would define them, forever… Indeed!”

Tragedy of Wanderer - Blood!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Blood! An ever strong stimulant to keep one high, for, the worst part with other narcotic is that they fade away sooner or later; leaving you in kind of vague periphery of abyss where you do not know whether you are high or even if could act like one. Blood! Its worthy of trust for it has kept us high for ages now and the pleasure it had endeavored upon has by no means less than a never ending orgasm. Ask them they would swear by it whole-heartedly.  Oh imagine tasting it for once and being in a state of trance forever. A state where you could scream right through torn fleshes, broken bones, scratched veins; of those bodies lying in the open drenched in mud or thrown in forests,  to draw out some more drops for yourself as souvenir. Souvenir, which would remind you of that moment when you had your first encounter with the crisp taste of it and you could never get out of its spell. If by any unfortunate tragedy you slip out of it, how dreadful it would be, you will wake-up being alive and stranded. Stranded on a piece of rock sinking in the heart of huge sea that could bring the worst of fears hidden behind your skull, forcing you to scratch your own nerves, biting out of numb teeth or to tear those drying skin atop veins, veins, one which might be carrying several of drops that you had possessed as souvenirs only to realize you are richer than anyone else, anyone ever can be and in ecstasy you find yourself unable to stop your tongue to lick those little red droplets, to not to let them falling in that horizon of salty blue horizon only to be wasted forever, you must suck them back, suck them as they are not your own but a souvenir, still… “

~ Praveen Parasar

O Moon!

O Moon!

O Moon, dear moon

As you seek your brightest

As I watch you growing and full

My obsession eclipses my passion

Lust takes over my love

For to wait, it has been long

And impatient, I long for you to take over

Darkness that has shadowed me beneath

For ages now, for every passing night

As you add, bits and pieces,

I lose mine, and already a mere thin thread of self

Hanging in ever growing abyss

I await touch of your cold lights

In one such night,

Upon my burning heart

For it has kept me warm for too long

But void grows and like a lost trail of river

That once carried life, desperate, it longs for

Shower of your touches, to be sunk

Beyond depth of deepest of desires

For where I no longer remain me

But to become a mirage of yourself

To inhale you,

I wait to be filled

And unveiled, even if it takes to be killed

By that innocent touch of yours

For as you seek you brightest

My heart burns and even more

For what could inflict pain,

And joy, unparalleled to any, but to wait

For to see you in all your glory,

Full, bright, and in a heavenly lull

Showering your magical moon-light.

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 5/12/2014

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer –

“Drop by drop, melting, he found himself floating in that glass of liquor. There was no fire, yet it felt as if a volcano erupted every time he held that glass and saw through it, it showed him colors, black and blue, green and red, yellow and pink but not until it all faded, so much so that it showed him no more than shades of moments lost, one we often fail to endeavor upon while walking past a field at the arrival of dusk. While the fog steals even our shadows, leaves us at the mercy of winds, which, as if desperate to tell us story, tales of long lost heroics, which children cherished listening over a cup of tea by the fire as the rather old man sat and delivered that tale in all its grandness to make kids believe, yes there was a wolf, that did steal his heart, in one such night and yet he lived and lived long.”

~ Praveen parasar