Sunday of this Summer…!

 "Sunday of a youthful summer

Lingers around as a bee upon flower

It hums, it kisses, it hugs, it sings

It watches me watch it speak and stammer

I hold onto its hand, I ask it to be seated

It feels shy, feels rejuvenated as it is,

I watch colors come and go off its face

As clouds hover across brightened sun of this day

Love at first sight, or sight of first love

For as we sit across and watch us glow

Listening to the birds sing and joyous wind blow

Pleasant as it appears and beautiful as it seems

I wish it to stay, I wish it never to end, but

If it has to, let it be slow, let it be slow

Slow as two lovers tread before departing

Through the alleys, stopping by at every wall

At every nook and beneath those lamp post

Who witnesses their joy of being together,

And fear their separation in the shade of its dimly lit avenue

That elongates and takes them back to the corner of alleyways

Alleyways that would keep them safe forever in memories

Memories that would bring them, and again

They would walk past those spots with love

Love, as young and bright as this Sunday of youthful summer

Sunday of this youthful summer

Glowing of its colors and brighter

Of its joy, of holding hands in hands, with

Me, I anticipate myself the chosen one

For lying in its lap, I watch it laugh and glare

Upon, I watch it watch me playing with its feathers

Feathers of days gone by in hurry, leaving behind

A trail of scars, scars that shine, and appear

As if flowers, flowers of spring that blooms

To welcome summer, summer whom I carry

In my eyes, in my heart and make love with,

Today, this day, this Sunday…"

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 22/03/2015

Narcissist!

Tragedy of Wanderer:

"All this idea of existence, idea of being substantial, being of importance, relevant, someone that matters, someone who could tell what is wrong and what is right and world could listen to, would that sustain if one turns to a corner and sits there on a high chair with his eyes shut, like a cat who thinks world is dark once it closes its eyes. What if one stops sabotaging the nights by drowning it overtly high pitched talks about who shot and who got killed, who bombed and who got blew up, who was raped and who was crucified and who was the reason, why someone did it, what if they hadn’t and then follows so many what-ifs, Driving force of life upon this planet. Deciding on characters within bedroom of dull lights and spilling booze in a desperate attempt to turn it into something exciting, something sexy, where one could lay naked with lust in eyes, blood on lips-sucking tongues while singing my funny valentine imitating chet baker.

Oh dear! Such tempting idea to lay down naked in closed room, drenched in whiskey, licking own skin, listening to baby, don’t you leave me of The Who, choosing not to hear see, feel anything else but self. Behaving as if dead yet sniffing like zombie, for who nothing matters but self, and thirst of blood, as here it must be thirst of sound, for sound of war, bombs, killings, destruction, screams, of men-women, children, animals, born-unborn what does it matter. Let the room be filled with smoke of burning skin and cries of dying infants, let me dance upon bones and play with eye-balls, I will decorate my walls with them, I will imagine they are watching me, and I am watching them. I will hug their skeletons and suck the last drop of blood upon it as one licks vagina and I will feel loved, I will feel being filled with sperm of my own ignorance to the core of my womb, womb that I chose to place in the core of my creator. Alas!"

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 11/3/2015

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“An intense desire to search, for what; an unknown, does that matter, for it gives an astute sense to look around. Search something, search nothing, and search whatever comes into mind or search for whose anatomy mind is yet to figure out. Must be a fool to think so, as I must confess, after all who looks for what is not even needed, let alone a mere intuition. I ask for direction, I scream name of my unknown destination to passer-by, they keep walking, they do not even look at me, they are too busy handling their devices, I feel jealous for I am no device yet.

I search, search for what I am searching for, I look around, hither and thither, fall upon my face, I look up-down, left-right, front-back, I see within, I cry, I perforate my eyes upon my palm and throw them around as if one throws a ball for a dog to bring back, I throw them to bring me back what I am looking for, what I am searching for. Oh pity! I find my eyes being run over by footsteps walking past me like I do not exist and my eyes are walked over dusted, still looking around for a last image of what I am looking for. Such agony, Alas!”

Blood!

Blood! What else

Defines, you and me, us

Blood, what else

Defies, you and me, us

Blood! What else

Blood out of lips

And organs, while we made love, violent, for

We wanted to taste each other and pass through

Blood out of eyes

And ears, blinded and deafed of scars, for

We saw and heard, stories of each other

Blood out of skins, half-burnt, half shrank, for

We hugged and rolled on together

Blood out of palm and feet

For we held our hands and walked together

Blood out of throat, half cut, half burst, for

We sang songs of being together, sinned

Blood out of veins

And flesh, torn apart by bombs, at war, for

We decided to make friends with each other, worse!

Blood! What else

Makes us stand and dictate, for what we are

Blood, what else

Makes us kneel and beg, for who we are

Blood! What else

Blood out of words

For we scribbled by pen made of bones of dead

Blood out of paper, blank

For tears and sweat of past couldn’t drench it enough

Blood out of fingers

For we held onto piece of blade, piece of you and me

Piece of us, for too long

Blood out of hearts

For it couldn't beat any longer to keep us alive

But, wished to see us cry, wished to see us die.

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 01/03/2015