Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Nothing is as mysterious as self, an abyss, a black hole where it could engulf whole world at will and divide it in as many dimension as it pleases, nobody has any control over it, one called it superego, another called it intuition, but does that matter? within those dimensions it is alien to itself, it is sad, it is happy, it is angry, it is sad, it screams, it laughs out loud, it take pity, it lies with grin, it gasps for truth, it hates, it loves, it has compassion, it kills with ease, it looks for life, where does it end, nowhere but itself. Such is the contradictory nature of the self. we might wonder who controls it, we might think of entities such as god and devil or any glorious figure which suits our imagination, but after all, they become self the moment we give them a persona, they are lost in their abyss in same way, the self in its own, the more figures we create in mind, the more we are at the verge of several dimensions of self, looking to take control of each other, only to end up clueless forever like two black holes fighting beyond life and death, in shadows. Who knows who wins who loses, who manages to control whom. The self is a voyage of endless universe, gathering along the dimensions, swaying through the nights of darks and lights; the nights, for in those places nothing is awake, and lurk in silence, a mysterious self, forever, looking for answers, but only to be buried beneath a heap of questions, questions which gives life its purpose and death its meaning..”

Scribbling

Scribbling:

“Who else but the night could sing such as

The sea! while touching its shores

Drenched of passion, asking to be caressed

As if to melt, longing for a kiss

Holding myself dearly, how I wish…”

Ocean of Words…!

“Often an ocean of words is born

Out of a drop or two of tears

Out of a moment or two of solitude

Out of a death or two as we live through

Through several questions and answers few

As we watch ourselves drown

In a glass of scotch or two

Making love with a night or two

And while the sun shines across the horizon

The sea appears nothing but a mirage

In a desert, where even shadows die as just

Waiting for the dusk, to soak the dust

As the darkness melts one in a drop or two

One often finds himself drenched

In an ocean of words anew…”

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 23/04/2016

Fall…!

“Wet-land of a swamp

Calls strangers with an invitation

Come, come and smell this water-lily

Come and test yourself, could you walk through

Could you step-in and carry your weight around

Naïve heart, silly enough to fall in such trap

Despite knowing the trick

Strays in, only to sink beneath

Even before it realizes having no ground underneath

Embarrassed, asks to let it go

Let you go! Laughs the swamp out loud

Let’s face it poor stranger

You have chosen your fall

You must have given it a thought

Before you dared to jump in

Let’s face it; it’s not me but you

Your own greed, your own wicked heart

Who wanted to feast upon a flower?

Who wanted to carry it back as a trophy?

Of a hunt, where you have fallen hunted now

Ashamed, clueless it screams, it cries

It asks to be helped

Its plastic tears only bogging him down further

It struggles and as much more it does

As much more it sinks beneath

Alas! There’s no escape

From your own web of manipulations

Even worse when you do that knowing

No one kills you as brutally, as your own shadows

Shadows you built, convinced

You could have them under control

But how could one control the devil

High upon taste of own blood

Carrying a one way ticket to nowhere…”

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 15/4/2016

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“He stayed there whole night, looking out of the window, waiting for her, for she had asked him to, for he wanted to, for this was supposed to be the last meeting for them. He knew it, she knew it. He was here to kill her; she was to come there to get killed. They were always coherent, they probably understood each other more then they understood themselves on their own. They had barely met more than a couple of times. He would come and sit there on a solitary table by the corner; she would notice and come to take his order. He would always order a glass of scotch, neat; he didn’t like to dilute the taste. She would serve him with dead eyes, no emotions, he would notice it without letting her know but could he, she had been in there since her childhood, she had seen people like him coming for their target again and again, she knew him the instant he entered the bar. She knew he was here to kill, and the moment she saw him observing here through smokes she knew it was her, she was the target. She had nothing to complain; she had fought her battle for too long, killing her would not have served any one’s purpose. Then why someone would want her dead, he was thinking sipping his single malt.

She had shown him his room and he sat by the window waiting for her to come back after closing the bar. It was raining heavily and he could feel tiny droplets hitting his stark face as if trying to dilute him. He did not realize how long it had been when suddenly he felt as if he could see distant mountain, there weren’t any clouds anymore. But something was wrong, he felt it was not really day, for there were no light, it was dark, still, but how come those mountains were visible in such darkness, he could even see woods, village at distance, people wandering around, all soaked in dark. He was puzzled, was he drunk, did she sedate him; he splashed a handful of water on his face, but still all dark. He looked towards sky and saw a dark round object; he could not look at it more than a couple of seconds. Suddenly a thought strike him, has the sun gone dark?

Imagine a world with a dark sun, all you see around is darkness, but dark enough to see it all as clear as ever. A world habitual of waking up to dark sun at dawn and sleeping to a dark moon by dusk. A world where the light has no place and we would do everything to keep the lights away. Imagine a world where we are exposed to ourselves and have no means to hide our sins, where the light is discriminated as carrier of lies and manipulations. She appeared to him like that dark moon he thought of just now, soft yet subtle, a distinct edge of darkness all around, he imagined her melting herself drop by drop through the night and suddenly he felt he was drowning.

Knock, knock! Suddenly he woke up to a gentle and a low yet firm voice at the door. Was he having a nightmare, before he could even blink or think of he felt a touch of cold metal against his neck, cold enough to send a shiver down his spine. He always thought himself dead enough to feel no emotion, but what he felt just now, was it fear…?”

To be continued…

Tragedy of wanderer!

Scribbling: Tragedy of wanderer: "I am the poison, you must taste it.. There has been no drug which could make you as high as me. A single drop of me upon your tongue and I could give you glimpse to a world unknown. I could let you see your dreams, your nightmares, your life your death...your faces you never saw, faces you hid, faces you carried whole life all along... I am poison I could make your veins burst out of your eyes as if your nightmares coming true .. You take a droplet of me and I give you a lifetime of worst possibilities coming true.. Your fears , your cries, your screams all of it what was buried till now beneath your skin, just a droplet and it all comes to the surface as those tears one carries in the eyes moment before giving up the life... And yet get accused of betrayal... I am poison, you must trust me, i am not you, not me, not him,her, she he or any of them. I would give you a life beyond deaths, beyond betrayals, beyond words. I am poision and I do not manipulate as you did all your life, for I have no emotions.. I am a dead walking naked along the river waiting for you to jump and witness how to breathe underneath the surface of water. I am the poison and I am here to save you from you."

Let the wind...

Scribbling:
"Let the wind carry us
Like it carries the essence
of a flower
Through the graves
Of someone dear...
Let the wind carry us
To places
Where memories flourish
Where in we may find
Dried leafs of flower we hid
Beneath heaps of books
Let the wind carry us
Where lies poetries
And stories
For they are the places
Where we could be together
Forever, we could
Pluck the stars, kiss the moon
Lay down all night by sand dunes
Let the wind carry us
To you, to me
To us
And we could be alive
Forever... "

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Nature has no emotion, nature is raw, it plays by no rule, and it never cares who dies and who lives. We are born with no emotion, it is only once we realize how helpless we are all alone in the world since our birth, we learn to pretend, We learn to devise various ways to claim our means of livelihood. Nature in wild is raw, it kills and get killed and bothers little about mayhem around, it flourishes upon dead and alive alike.  We learnt to manipulate the nature, we learnt of emotions, we made ourselves believe in terms of love, hate, fear, power, rage, anger, pain, and so on… nature has no emotion, it is hungry it will kill its own child and feed itself, there’s no anger in it, no pain, no fear, no rage. Nature makes love and once satisfied it eats own mate like a ritual. We had devised emotion with a strong faith that it would help us rule upon nature, we would set up gods to guard upon us who would control the nature in return for us. Gods made by us, out of nature, to control nature, to guard us and help us rule nature in return for we would pray to those gods to let us do so. Alas! Nature plays by no rule and the moment it wishes we and our gods are left buried somewhere in wild wrapped in our manipulated emotions. Nature doesn’t cry upon dead, nature doesn’t celebrate life, it just continues, like a zombie sleep-walking across a dark alleyway.”

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“You knew you were walking upon a swampland, sooner or later weight of your own shadow was going to swallow you still you chose to pretend to be on high ground. Ignorance, a willful act of crime, a human error, whatever you name it, it is not going to change the fact nobody else could be blamed for the act. Who is guilty when your own hangs you in thin air and leaves you gasping for little air?

Gasp, gasp and more but whatever little air you would suck out of blackened sky would only choke you, for you burnt it on your own for a long time; drop by drop you turned it into a cemetery while pretending to design a garden. You dug your own grave, planted yourself neck deep and convinced yourself you were standing still on firm ground. What else could be more tragic than to be betrayed off your own shadow, as if you were wandering for so long with a shadow of someone else?

He felt as if he was wearing skin of someone else, his flesh did not belong to him, his blood had color he had never seen or did he? He wanted to recognize himself but how? He was like an actor who was too good with his makeup to even recognize himself.”