Scribbling

:

“Full moon in the night sky

As if an ice-cube in glass

Floating, melting,

Half-drowned, half-sunk

Taste it with care

For it could make you drunk…”

Existence!

"Individualistic existence is like that of God's particle, you do not exist for anyone else but yourself, nobody knows about you, nobody appears to recognize your being but you. You float across as winds sail by remaining there as one breathes high and low. Such existence are destructive, you cannot expect them to build you dreams, it could give you moments at its best, moments that make that momentarily existence worth the risk, risk that wreck you in and out. It might end up leaving you neither dead nor alive but it will certainly give you an instinct to feel the vibe of life, life that goes beyond certain rules, rules that define life for many, life that doesn’t exist for most.

It is often hard to imagine one beyond a shoulder to hang on to. We need a figure to look unto, to dream of, to romanticize into, and to idealize oneself to. We make gods who characterize best of us, who could love better, who could live better, who could fight better, we crave lovers who inspire us in the dead of nights to lead us into soul-searching, and we immortalize images for we need someone to tag along while passing by dead of darkness. To confront self in those dark moments are scary and we often contemplate ourselves as weaker as one could end up being, it might end up one being on his knees scared to raise his eyes for he would get to see himself ready to strangle his throat for being a coward.

Dead of nights could be devastating, it might cut your veins open and ask you to watch it till the last drop fall apart, only to lick it all back before dawn spreads its wings asking you to fall back in line. Life reacts in no other way. A night alone in the woods, by the stream beneath a dark sky could resemble a whole life, where you might end up dreaming of the moon or end up jumping down the stream to drown yourselves.

Probably that makes it beautiful, that instinctive approach, that momentarily life. That is not supposed to last any longer but as long it takes to destroy oneself. Probably life is all about destroying self as gloriously as possible, what else. Wonder!

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 22/10/2015

The Night!

"The night was young and he was drunk, wandering in the darkness, looking for North Star to position him at the edge, to save him from falling over, but where the star was, for dark night had other plans for him. It was seducing him slowly to commit unknown. Isn’t it an adventurous feeling to enter into woods without knowing how to get out and remain lost for ages?

As anticipated he did fall over and is wandering ever since, it is often a matter of that moment when you realize you are about to fall, your sense telling you to step back but your sixth sense encouraging to jump, for you always wanted to fly.

He saw himself falling with the flow, smoothly, no turbulence at all. You do not feel being hit until you actually hit the ground. It happened same way. It was as rocky a surface as hard it could get. Tossed around as if pieces of droplet, one that had started journey expecting to taste the sea, but realities are often different then one imagines them to be. He could only imagine being by the Sea, while dying in that moment slowly.

The sea, he remembers standing in front of it and felling the grandness of it. It made him feel so small, tiny as non-existent. He dreaded touching those water fearing he might get drowned. And then suddenly a wave came and there was he in the water where he could not see, anything, hear any sound, felt none of bruises he received of those curious fishes. He was a lump of meat floating across. It was all so still and calm amidst all those turbulence around. You do not live till you feel the death. He let his lungs filled with salted water. It felt similar to having those glasses of dark rum.

He often dreamt of falling in a pit of snake, dreading to touch them he coiled himself like one and rolled over, but they thought him to be one of their own and started a fight to announce their right over this new one. He remembers their violent hissing at his skin, it felt like acid being spread over his body. His heart was beating as that distant sound of someone playing a drum. He was being touched by thousands of snakes at a time and the poison was melting his body and drop by drop he felt being diluted in the darkness of the night.

Standing in front of the mirror, he often saw the night close and personal. He went close, touched it, kissed it, and saw in the eyes of image. He saw the same night, he always dreamt of, a dark night, carrying a chaotic silence, whispering secrets of light while asking him to follow to the gorge.

Drink another glass, shakeup the scene, wake up, dance to the rhythms, and feel the ever so seductive night."

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 20/10/2015

Carpe Noctem!

Scribbling:

“Being prisoner of own thoughts

He deserved to lose, laughed upon

For the night had watched him

Far too long; attempting to pretend.

A game he knew he would not win

Yet he gambled his soul

Only to be chained and put behind walls

Where darkness rubbed his wounds with salt

Wounds he had left open for too long

It had corrupted the flesh and bones

While pretending to save his soul

Only to gamble it away, like a ruined memory

Memory, what else made him

Stand to look in eyes of self, as if

To judge and give a verdict upon

Crimes he committed only he knew about

Self, wretched one, remained silent

Probably it knew being guilty of pretension

One he had been running from for ever

But, only to be caught red-handed, alas!”

Scribbling

“Falling down in pieces

Like droplets of rain,

Will I get a chance?

To recollect self,

While I fall upon a piece of rock

Or upon echoes of the sea,

Ecstasy of flight

Taking over lust of salvation”

Scribbling

Scribbling:

"Moments when your panache starts to dictate their terms and you find no other way then to follow like a sheep. Who could be the guilty after all if not yourself for allowing something to take over you while you enjoyed exaggerating it? Was that first sign of being loser, probably, or certainly. He wandered and wondered while hiding his face in the closet. it was too dark a night to show him his own flesh.  And it made him confront what he had been avoiding forever. After all you cannot run away from self for too long. Moments..."

Rest in Peace!

"When nothing makes you happy

But sadness

When only thing that excites you

Is tragedy

When only thing that makes you feel loved

Is being alone

For sight of the crowd makes you nothing

But lonely

When you can only see through it

At darkness

When days weighs you down only to look for

The dusk

When world seems to have lost hold of life

But dead

When it is only the hour of twilight that breathes a life

To those lifeless

When one drags through past

At present

When one attempts desperately to get hold of

The future

When you find your eyeballs watching you

Only to dread

When one regrets watching self secretly, being intimate

With flesh and bones, pen and paper.

When the moon reminds one of life at the death of

The sun

When one meets self trampling past an alleyway

As strangers

When sky seems to carry droplets that fell down

One’s eyes

While raindrops tap upon window pane

As if here to quench their thirst

When you find yourself scattered

At edge of broken mirrors

When you stop stitching yourself back, after being sliced,

And over again

When you know you are about to hit end of tunnel

Yet no slowing down

When you walk past yourself and whisper nonchalantly -

Rest in peace!"

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 14/10/2015

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Moments, when you cannot get high enough on alcohols but only blood, your own, which you must drain off your veins and collect in goblet you kept to grow a pair of dahlia by the window; Instead that goblet grew pair of eyeballs that hung there as if peeking in and watched him all through dusk attempting to drag himself out of that void. Void, which was sinking him down and deeper, there was no ground anymore beneath but an abyss. An abyss created out of his own flesh and bones, for his shadows were as shallow as drown dead body floating by a marsh.

It did not happen in one night, he did not even fall singe piece, for he was too stubborn to be dragged opposite so he insisted but hands of wall-clock pierced his ears and sliced through his lungs in the epitome of twilight, as if it were cooking a delicacy to serve the darkness, his royal highness, after all he was a faithful slave. And now, abandoned, Piece by piece he fell down as those notes hit the chord; his hands attempting to catch his leg, his leg trying to run behind his face, his face as twisted as a crooked finger-nail and made his heart screamed thinking of it a ghost. There was him falling down in pieces yet with a hope in his heart, his beloved night would catch him, stitch back his pieces, caress his scars and bring him back by the dawn before even he could himself realize he was neither alive nor dead but a spectre at large.” 

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

When suddenly out of nowhere he realized being at a crossroad, which way to go, which way to turn his back, which one to face up, dilemma was pinning down and it was a must for him to stand his ground. Strangely every side appeared to show his face, he felt he was walking down in all direction simultaneously, as they say in quantum mechanics of parallel universe he saw happening in that moment. Was he drunk, was he high or was he watching it happening being awake, he could not make up his mind. He kept on looking at them in certain awe. Apparently, none of those faces cared of him being there, they were acting as they did not know him; or may be knew him to be of no good to know. He was appearing wasted to himself. He felt embarrassed in front of them. He felt strong urge to prove them wrong, he screamed louder, and jumped down, away from them all. Alas! Force of gravity was too strong to design his speed, he could not breathe, black air filled his lungs and eyes burst out to give way to darkness within.

He remembers no more then, when he woke up to find his pieces lying all around. There was no face anymore. He did not exist even for himself anymore. He did not mind having no flesh and bones, for he just convinced self of being a stranger to him and shook hands. It was easier this way to carry scars of those violent moments of solitude. 

Drop by Drop!

Edward J. Steichen - Figure with Iris, 1902.

"Drop by drop

She collected darkness

And the night

Rolled down her cheeks

Onto her palms

This she raised

As if to let the moon

Taste her

In salted dreams

She carries

In her eyes

Where life gleamed

This she collected

Drop by drop

While passing by

The twilight hour

And lighted the path

For to show

Way to her dreams

Where they belong

Drop by drop

She collected herself

And the night

Watched her, mesmerized

For her wings

Made of broken glasses

Brought a thousand stars

Upon the earth

Beneath her feet

This she walked upon

Like a fawn

Scared a bit

Curious too

Watching night watch her

By the chasm

In the vicinity of moonlight

She kissed it

Held it close,

As if soul-mates

Who complete, fill

Complement each other, and

Drop by drop

They melted to be one

While the moon

Witnessed their romance

In chaotic silence."

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 07/10/2015

Waylaid!

"What could man do without guilt?

A sense of fear, sense of shame

Sense of regrets being all over

Only to buried, beneath

Lies! One watered whole life

What could man do without hate?

A sense of wicked desire, sense to kill

Sense to smell blood taking over

Only to be burnt in the fire of hatred

One kept the flames high several nights

What could man do without death?

A passion to kill, urge to fill

Lands with dead, while

Pretending to be animal

One always thought self to be

What could man do without life?

A dreadful journey to commence

One hitting walls and again

Yet dragging through flesh and bones

Only to be lost in the void of own screams

What could man do without darkness?

Mirror, which shows one more than one could hide

And lays down his body bare open

To be loved, despite being drenched in filth

While maneuvering hard to be loved back, alas!"

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 05/10/2015