Tragedy of wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of wanderer:

“Love always found solace in the bosom of death, but he insisted for it to be exhibited with life for once but only to make a mockery of its lonesome figure amidst myriad of shadows passing by who ridiculed and accused him of treachery, while he stood there in chaotic silence unable to fathom his own tirades of questions. He had just witnessed a humiliating showdown with hate that he lost and how, oh! Only if he could realize there always lurked animals hidden in bright light of days preying upon such vulnerable ones, who find themselves broken and fallen at the end of such failed exhibition upon so called animated life. He felt to drown himself in a glass of oblivion with a faint hope that probably the night would let him hold her once more forgiving his such imprudence towards darkness. Darkness for it always gave him a secret taste of death and he scribbled his musings off its visage. Alas!

Scribbling:

“Pain, a sedative so fine
Offers glimpses of death sublime…”

Worthless-man!

"Being a worthless man

Squandering about

Holding onto tainted shadows

Carrying nothing but hollow promises

Banished off the holy land of hope

He wandered along the muddy ridge of indifferences

Picking pieces of himself broken, lost along the way

Some that he had attempted to throw upon clouds

Only to find him at receiving end, as if spitted upon

Well, well, what else to expect

Being a worthless man

Oh dear, such is the tale of

Being a worthless man

Scheming about

Hiding beneath blots of suspicion

Bound to be caught red-handed and again

Only to be ousted off the boundaries of solicitude

And there, now

Left alone, drunk upon solitude

He wonders

Whether even the night hates him yet

Whether even darkness would refuse

To let him come, any closer

Whether even death would offer him any solace

Being a worthless man…”

Praveen Parasar

04/03/2017