Tragedy of Wanderer:
"It seemed like every other night, but it was not. It had a
sense of chaos in it; it had a sense of love in it. Love brings chaos, they complement
each other, and they make you wonder how long you can cope with them, they
scare you like those dark nights in the woods, you went there to look for
moonlight, but all you could witness was glowing eyes of hungry wolves who with
sense of your presence became desperate to quench their thirst of blood. Yet you
did not run away, you stayed holding your breath, you felt rush of blood
through your veins, you felt hungry too, you did not feel scared but hungry for
your own blood, you felt to scream your heart out along with those hungry
wolves while looking for the moon – lost somewhere beneath shadows of darkness.
He was getting drunk as usual to welcome the night, as if a
mechanical ritual one must do before falling away, scattered along the floors
as if pieces of dust only to be collected back every mornin, for even those
drops of alcohol were failing to make him feel any better for it was getting
boring. For hunger for chaos had drained him as much as hunger for love, for
the hunger had started eating himself. He licked his skin, he kissed his lips,
he craved for own blood and bit his tongue in fury, it was getting dangerous
till he could feel his flesh and bones scattered around him. He licked every
drop of blood rolling down his cheek before droplets of sweat could dilute it,
as those drops of tear had diluted his shadow.
Silence isn’t beautiful till you can hear a scream through
it, till you can melt away in notes of cries and whispers screaming aloud decorating
its skin and you could wear it as if a garland of skulls. Skulls of all those
faces you could not carry along, faces you had to bury beneath your wandering
feet, but only to end up trampling upon your own shadow in the dead of night. May
be that being the punishment for being coward, for not being courageous enough
in the bright-sunny days, only to be left burning in the blue fire of moonlight,
slowly, for coking chaos requires patience and fuel of regrets, for maybe
nobody knows better than yourself of ways to hurt yourself.
He saw himself melting drop by drop as that candle in remote
corner of the room, trembling through the winds yet holding onto its fire, he
felt ashamed for he had no more fire to hold onto, or probably he had sold it
to merchants travelling across oceans, to carry it along, and let it lighten
their paths while they went onto explore worlds anew, several of them, some
dead, some alive, he thought despite being sold away by merchants his fire
would show him the world hidden behind the shadow of darkness, where the moon
must have got lost, and where he could find his flesh and bones drowned in his
own blood, only to rebuild his shadows, prisoner of silent nights.
The void of night is too alluring to avoid being lured
inside. Enslaved."
By - Praveen parasar
Date - 17/9/2015
