Scribbling...

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“There is something special about darkness, which haunts one, confronts one, saddens one, cheers one, brings one to life, lets other sleep forever. To meet it in its raw solitude, witness it in all its simplicity, just for being there, calm and silent; there are no force acting upon you in darkness, no noise but a hypnotizing chaotic silence. You choose what to hear, what to scream, what to cry for, what to look at, and it lets you continue generously as if nothing to complain, nothing to demand. You are the god in the sea of darkness; it lets you choose and decide and lets you mold it the way you want. May be because it knows you might exist just for that moment in its embrace. May be it knows you will come to accept it back sooner or later. May be it knows it will live for eternity, may be it knows it would die the very moment someone lights the candle, may be it knows it would exposed to the core by the dawn, yet may be it still exists for it carries nothing to hide, it has no secrets, no regrets, no remorse, no smiles, no tears. It remains there, as if it is not the sun but the darkness which nourishes the universal life. There is no reproach, no repulsion, no attraction, for no one can define it, may be for it is only the darkness who defines us all at the end. It accompanies us from womb to our graves, a silent companion we often miss to acknowledge.”

Flames of Love!

Flames of love

Mirage in desert

You dread it

To not to be real

Yet you die

Running behind it

Not knowing when

You started loving your thirst

Flames of desire

Half-burnt candle at night

Braving through winds

You dread to see it

Extinguished

Yet you wait for darkness

To take over

Not knowing when

You started loving

Lying half-naked, and

Secrets whispered in your eyes

Flames of lust

Sound of rain

You dread it

For you cannot hear

The chirping of birds

For warmth of sunshine

Is eclipsed by dark clouds

Yet you secretly wish

It not to stop, but pour

For it would keep her

From going, that morning

While you drench each other

Until drowned

Flames of passion

Double edged sword

You dread walking upon

For you would end up dead

Either way

Yet you cannot stop,

But dance

For its music

Enthralls you

For life feels safe

Closer to death

For life blooms

In its embrace,

Chaos of love! ”

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 28/12/2015

Waking up...!

“A few dry leafs

A few fallen memories

Broken out of turbulent winds

Beneath shadow of life

Counting and recounting days

Before being trampled upon

Walked by, seen-unseen

Only to fade through

Dust of time

A death rather slow

Two eyes too shallow

A heart to follow

While void of solitude

Swallows oneself

Deep down

Alleyways of lungs

Where secrets scream

Ready to tear down

Hollow walls of flesh and bones

Droplets of blood might

Bring it back to life

A ray of hope

A ray of life

But soon the dawn arrives

Drowned in that glass

Placed by the window

Where sunrays falls, and

Though taps gently;

Dies another dream

Like a bubble

Being touched

They are lost, just like that…”

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 26/12/2015

Dead Love!

Let us melt,

And be one;

Let us rain

Drop by drop

Attempting to fill

A broken flower-pot

By the door, Oh dear!

Let us wipe

Each other clean

For every kiss

Which we blew

Left a trail

This would lead the world

Right onto

Our sins, the lust

Let us wake-up

And let it all

Vanish, just another blink

As if nothing happened

For whatever happened

Was not meant to happen

After-all, silly us

Let us lie down

And dream;

For every scene

We rehearsed so far

Out there

Has turned out to be

A nightmare

Let us inhale

Each other, and

Go deep down

Into the lanes of lungs

Where secret dies

Let us part ways

Let us say good-by

Let us hug and whisper

Adieus mon amour

And smile a little

Awkwardly, only to

Get going. Alas!

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 14/12/2015

Whispers!

Let me caress my wounds

Let me hold my heart ajar

Before dusk wades through the thoughts

Before the moon fades through the night

Before eyelids fall heavily upon

Dreams uncared for

As I watch myself falling in

Bits and pieces

Words upon paper

Random at their best

For who else could represent a spectre

An identity unidentified

A shadow unmasked

As it sways through

Moonlight, sparkling visuals

Of past and future

For there was never a present

It passed before I could realize

It was there to hold onto

I sit by the window and look

Beyond those uncharted territory

Of darkness, of words left unsaid

Of what-ifs

Of brave attempts

Of cowardly escapes

As the ice melts slowly in the glass

And dilutes the liquor

As if trying to dilute the nightmare

Only to offer a dream

Unasked for

For addicted to bitter hellos

Often finds it hard to swallow sweet adieus

As if merchants of chaos

Laughs upon pieces of peace on offer

For flesh and blood must be offered

In exchange of a piece of stained paper

And be murdered silently

Or to say fall asleep, being gentle”

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 11/12/2015

Thoughts!

“For the thoughts mean

How do we choose to feed

A mind docile

A heart stubborn

While thoughts - a continuum

At times monstrous

At times affable

With choice all the same

To nurture one we decide

To leave another at its own peril

For we are our thoughts

Expressed or repressed alike

Meekness to follow

Will to confront

Generous at times

And we are to grow”

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 08/12/2015

The Lust!

“As pure as scorpion’s sting,

Were their lust

For it hit them hard

And made them high

As dark as the dusk without moon

Were their lust

For it let them rip apart

Bits and pieces of desire

And set on fire

They smoked and drank, and

Watched the house burn

Made up of bricks of their body

As subtle as the idea of love to many,

As crude was their lust

For it let them taste each other

Blood they bleed through twilight

For they did not know

Could not know

Would not know

What love means, but lust!

As pure as an evening rain

Were their lust

For it did let them keep the smell

Of sweat drenched skin

Banished beyond days

Away from good old gaze

They had nothing but to

Hold up the rage - of lust

As silent as the night could be

As chaotic was their love

For they could no longer be heard

Their passion screamed out loud

Slaves of body

Mastered the art

Touched it if they must

And crafted a piece of lust”

By: Praveen Parasar

By: 07/12/2015

Scribbling:

Scribbling:

"Bound to love some, dislike some

What good pretending otherwise would do?

Let us do a favor and accept it as it is..."

Scribbling

"To hear, what we like to hear
To see, what we decide to see
To feel, what feels good to feel
To appear, as we intend to please;
self, more than others - though it may appear otherwise
Manipulation! We being masters of the art."

Longing!

"How longings do end?

How subconscious does play game

How we watch them being ignorant

While our ignorance does more then to fuel the flame

Flames of desire, of deep-rooted passions

Flames of suppressed emotions

Flame of half-burnt mechanical smiles and cries

It all burns bright while the evening grows dark and cold

Where would one get to confront

Where would lead this game of

Hide and seek, manipulative hunt

For hunters does play victims well

Made up to see ourselves

Given to choose of our own faces

Buried beneath self-convictions

We often end up choosing a shadow, alas!

With eyes half-closed, half-open

Pretending to see – unsee still

Only to end up being empty despite being filled

Wandering through the mirage of life, had we willed

An attempt to accept,

An attempt to rejoice

What we sung along,

Which we wouldn’t give voice

A memory to sleep with

A dream to wake up to

Dreading to go beyond pain

We are to end up asking again,

How longings do end?"

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 02/12/2015

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Moments, when you feel chocking by your own voice; your words strangling you and every attempt to scream turns into a scene of massacre, where you find yourself scattered around in bits and pieces. He felt same at that moment. He wanted to speak, he wanted to tell her his story, he wanted to speak of the danger she might be in, he wanted to do his bit – however insignificant; for he knew in that town once marked red you cannot escape the edge of blades. Nobody knew whose name was next, might be himself.He knew he must remain silent and wait for her, he was here just to collect information.

Blade! Simple and double edged; easy to carry, even easier to use. You hold it in your fingers and in a flash it lets you taste blood.  You could even hide it in your mouth.  It was quite a favorite instrument in neighborhood. People preferred it for bullets was costly, and it was easy to get caught carrying a knife. Instead, blade was beyond doubt, after-all how else people could keep themselves clean shaven, neat and tidy. Nobody was stopped carrying a blade, and slowly it was selling as hot cake.

He did practice the art of hiding blades in his mouth for several weeks. His most of inner mouth was slashed in the process, he could not eat for days, to speak anything was even difficult; yet it was sort of addiction he felt his craving growing every day. He wanted to master the art, for he thought it would make him formidable against anyone without much fuss. Soon, he used to slide down blades inside his mouth beneath his tongue as if no big deal. Taste of his own blood used to make him feel high.

He remembers the scene he used his blade for the first time. He was walking down the alleyway that evening and there was a guy moving carelessly towards his car. He had not planned it, but suddenly his hands acted and next moment that guy was holding his throat which had already turned into a fountain of blood. He could not make up his mind of what took his life first, drained out bloods or the surprise slash of fine steel. Dead man’s bulged out eyes were as lifeless as that bar his car stood out of, while he continued walking towards the bar that guy came out of – like nothing happened.