Psychoanalysis!

"When only way to live is to die,

To smile is to cry,

To speak the truth you must lie,

It’s time to crossover and say good-bye

Before void annihilates you

And sinks you in graves of oblivion

Only to let you rot

It’s time to crossover and say good-bye

Where light pretends to be dark

And empathy grows blackened

Shadows start marching forward

It’s time to crossover and say good-bye

How faces start to change colors

Once intimate, you kiss them deep, lick them hard

Sleeping with corpses, only to realize

It’s time to crossover and say good-bye

When only way to feel your skin is to strip your bones

And to quench your thirst

Must taste own blood, alas!

It’s time to crossover and say good-bye

While you stand and watch being held

Grounded and sentenced, unable to shut

Eyes wide open despite being hanged

It’s time to crossover and say good-bye

Why did you lose, what do you care

You couldn’t even scream what you longed for

Smell the flowers, rest in peace

No more crossovers, no more good-byes."

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 25/6/2015

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“How about facing it all despite having a rather strong urge to quit, to smell dust despite being run over by storms. Slowly one becomes addictive, no? Once you start being run over, knocked down, you feel the pain, you lick your wounds with sort of addiction, not to fill them up and heal but to taste the blood and watch your flesh and bone-bare; oh the idea excites, to watch your bare bones, white and red, damn! I wonder what is it all about, may be one feeling similar would understand, if not who cares, after-all there’s so much happening around, one does not understand yet goes on with it, so will they with this.

There’s certain lust over holding your scars, touching it, feeling the pain, imagining when it was still open and bleeding, and that pain, oh! One touches it again and again in sort of trance to remember it all, and before anything comes back, what trauma runs over mind is, it is healed now. One could not smell the blood through them again, until one takes out the knife and cut it open back again, just in search of that ages old feeling of pain, expecting it to lie still beneath those scars (what pity it would be, if one doesn’t find them down there…oh!)

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“And, while waking up in the middle of night, sweating heavily, trying to breathe back after losing it for moments, he was trying to recount the dream he just had. It was sort of falling into spiral, an abyss, an ever growing void, inhaling him deep within, yet he felt he is reaching to the end, and moment before the crash he would wake up screaming. It was common nightmare for him and doctors said it was common for many. He wondered how many are out there same as him, for all of them must be feeling similar for having similar dream, no? He read it might be for something not under control in life. He started remembering his life till now; what all he felt had happened as he expected, he saw-none. He was never in control of his life, he is not even now. From the type of education to relationships to places he traveled to people he met, to work he was doing to life he was living, he was never in control. He did not know and wondered whether he had started living those nightmares in real life. He felt himself falling into spirals wide awake in the middle of the room. Yet the excitement of getting crashed with a loud bang was strong enough to continue falling. He felt himself pushing forward.”

Schism!

"And while staring at the stars

One does not feel calm, but raged

At unknown, vague

As if a leftover cloud of storm

Looking for thunders back again,

While hanging there in utter silence

Amidst blackened air and flickering stars

Sketching its own paradox,

To grew affix or to weed out self

To carry that skin or to gouge away the flesh,

Chocking at words as if unable to breathe

Gasps for air, for being drunk on storms, one

Finds it hard to get high on watered glasses, and

Tragedy of night lies beneath the goblet of fire

Where darkness grows in all its grandness,

And mocks one holding the goblet, for it knows

One must burn self at the end, no other way

To defy, for darkness would exist for ever

Till one gives away self, flesh and bone,

It must be served blood, to keep the fire raging

Imitating those stars, watching one still

While night grows, and darker."

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 15/6/2015

Scribbling

“There's something different about the night after rain,

Something the way it makes you feel

It passes by, in certain silence

Yet, as if screaming its heart out, or just drunk

Trying to act as if sober,

Holding onto trees and lamp-posts

While stumbling and fumbling

Something the way it stirs your heart and puts wave inside,

Which carry stories, told-untold, heard-unheard, and happened or yet to…

There’s something special about the night after rain,

Something the way it hugs you,

Kisses you,

Looks right into your eyes and whispers in your ear  

Secrets - secrets that defines you.”