Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“There are moments which are closer to us more than the others, the music which speaks to us more than others, the night which are sacred more than others and few of those words which appear be the savior, the only one every time we look up to all those words in thesaurus. What could it tell us about ourselves, he always wondered. Does it mean we are more like ourselves at certain moments or it just we celebrate pour exaggerated self at certain moment more than other. This conflict between different aspect of the self was what started to diluting his glasses while he desperately tried to get drunk only to find himself more and more vulnerable and at the mercy of gods, gods he had decided not to romanticize anymore while he prepared himself to rival them. He felt as if begging to words such as longing, solitude, darkness, void, abyss, the night, Oh… begging them to come forward and accept his meek proposition and all he could find were a few of scattered adjectives and prepositions, all in front of a trail of ruins which could have been a castle of words…Alas!

The insignificant man…

 

"The insignificant man

Carrying around

apathy abound

Along with heaps of

Angst and hatred

Thrown upon

While walking past

The garden of significance

Carefully watered

Aesthetically implanted

Upon the barren lands

Of hypocrisy, and indifference

Such contrast to notice

While

Shrill voices

Curses, chases away

The insignificant man

The insignificant man

Running away

Holding onto

Long list of if and buts

And wondering

Confused, hesitant

To add another of the same

Obsolete what-ifs

While

Hiding behind

The walls of

See-through wants

While

A little beyond

lies a secret graveyard of

murdered demands

The insignificant man

Must not stop

Being insignificant

even at the danger of

being labeled

significant

Alas…!”

Praveen Parasar

11/11/2017

The act…

 

“it’s the night

and one must give up

the act of acting

as if doing something

performance must be halted

echoes the chorus, only

to simply lay down

and act of acting

as if not doing anything

performance must be continued

echoes the void, only

to leave one

at the mercy

of that ever monotonous

watches

hanging at the wall

carrying around the corpses

of time

which appears

to have run out of its own time

desolated and deserted

its screams

lost

in the hollowness of

its own tick-tocks

while the night continues

to grow

into an abyss

deep enough

to engulf the

unsuspecting day

at the other end…”

Praveen Parasar

11/10/2017