Reason

"All our screams of suffering

And cries out of pain

As if the uncertainty over self has

Consumed us inside out

Soon turns into a noise, unbearable

As if thrown into a mute and deaf crowd

Deprived off our solitude

Made to laugh off our tears

Which threatens to wash away

Our very existence

We crave for a little of silence

No matter how chaotic

For it feels home to be buried

Beneath our vulnerable longing for gloom

A castle made of our fallen pieces

a grave where we are born and again

For where else we could soothe

The scars we tend so savagely, Alas!"

Praveen Parasar

22/04/2017

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Once he knew he belonged to nowhere, he was home, in his own abyss, where his narcissistic highs were enough to carry him through the days, unseen, and drunk upon his solitude he chose to gamble with the night. He was a declared outcast, thrown out of his castle of doom. He didn’t disappoint himself with calamity, for losing was his genre and he handled it with ease, it only brought him toasts from shadows he had kept in the dark corners of his skin. While people thought to shame him for the naïve insistence, he was convinced tragedy was not being at the wrong end, for odds are often in favor of that. It was in being at the right end and yet finding others calling their bluff. He never desired to win, for he found a distinct ecstasy in being the villain, one who is destined to lose or so people thought. He felt amused at the thought. He decided to sleep with the tragedy and make it appear like a virgin maiden.”

Persuasion…!

“You must not carry suffering

as the night carries darkness

and the day – lights,

for both are often overwhelmed of their companions

anxious, as if they would belie themselves

you should instead carry it

like a broken mirror carries its reflections

as if enslaved, obsessed, possessed

for it can never stop imaging

despite being wrecked and again

only to tear itself apart upon being seen

as if exposed, mocked, tormented

and yet knowing there is no escape

you must collect pieces of self

trampled down, scattered around

in the ruins of solitude…”

Scribbling:

“Taste of

Saliva, sweat, blood

Spell of

Chaos, obsession, madness

Thrill of

Death, destruction, darkness

And

Mundane as this life appears

while

Resentment, rage, reason

Feasts

upon corpses…”