Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Inconsolable

One wishes to drown

In the tears;

The ground beneath refuses

Leaving behind, option

None other

Than to suffocate and float

Until, either the tears dry up

Or one sinks in the depths

Of uncertainty

Longing forever…”

Persistence…!

“Dark as it may appear

Troubled as it may seem

Persistence, O dear heart

For the sake of suffering

And you shall endure

Even in the depth of graves

For life may fail

And death may appear edgy

Yet, those wounds ajar would ensure

An existence, however fragile,

Beyond

Those leftover droplets

By the eyes, more dead than alive

Raped by the day

Untouched by the night

Carrying exotic gifts of apathy

Suffocating beneath indifference

Yet, seeking to leave behind a trail

For they may lead you

Back to yourself

Holding on to the bits and pieces

Of a self,

Broken beyond recognition

And yet…”

Praveen Parasar

22/10/2018

Act-I

“Whose is the corpse

Amidst the chasm

Growing within

Floating around, abound

Yet carries no face

As if asking those

indifferent onlookers

To draw the shape

Of a gaze, long dead

Buried deep beneath

The contours of

A fading shadow

There lies

Some droplets still

Belying the

Melting screams, and

Hollowed echoes

Of solitude

Unseen, Unheard

Neither caressed

Nor held closed

Oh! How it drowns in

Those unrelenting metaphysical abysses…”

Praveen Parasar

14/10/2018

Drunk…!

"Drunk upon taste of your innocence

I find myself strayed far-off

My beloved existential dilemma

What was I if not a mere piece of stone?

Turned immortal off your inadvertent touch

Carved along the walls carrying sulking gods

Words you whispered while we made love

Turned into poetry, sculptures of khajuraho

And the night echoed centuries of longing

Hypnotized, hallucinated

Only to find myself frozen in your embrace

A rather mellowed end of a violent outbreak

You stayed beside, naked, nonchalant

Moon being the poor witness along with those stunned stars

While the darkness struggled to cover your oozing youthfulness

I grappled to explore you in embarrassed fingers of mine

Watching you slip across my amateur grasp

A dream persists beyond the abrupt arrival of dawn

Your smell still afresh upon the skin, a welcome hangover

Oh, I find myself more alive than ever

The death must wait for another night, and yet…”

Praveen Paraasr

8/10/2018

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Exiled beyond sight of its own

Barren horizon of those eyes

Still carry traces of droplets, parched

Beneath the hungry glances of the day

And yet, awaiting resurrection…

A mere caress of the night would suffice.”

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:
Tragedy of Wanderer:
At once hated and loved, faculty of reason marks the dilemma which constitute the horror of existence. While Kierkegaard despised the faculty of reason as the sin, for it being the root of trouble one finds self in, Nietzsche advocated learning to suffer rather than evading the horror of existence. Man over history, or history over man contuse to divide even within the existential domain. One is suggested either to surrender to the faith or fight it out through learning to suffer.
The worst is, culture does not want individual to think, and having learnt to do so when an individual turn to thinking one falls in the trap of existential horror which threatens to destroy the very existence, very essence one built through the chaotic silence of the night and silent chaos of the days; leaving behind a void one could never overcome, could one?” 

Scribbling

Scribbling:

“To love, Self-less!

Filled in itself

Content of its own

Being, overflows

And beyond…

To make love, Self-seeking!

Devoid of its own

Longs to find

Self, in the voids

Of another

Being…”

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“They were talking still, but more and more hogwash; the lack of trust was too evident but they did not want to confess. It was as if the deficit of trust had gone past the limit where you could stop and look back and think of a way to confront. No, the confrontation was bound to bring up way too ugly faceoff back to the podium and neither of them felt having left any strength to witness such a sight. As if they had agreed on one thing after all and that was to not to prick each other out of comfort zone, even if it meant suffocating in each other’s embrace, knowing the level of manipulation. They were much more comfortable with each other amidst that lack of trust than to having confront the reason behind it. Irony! They would agree too, and yet…Alas!”

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Scream! Echoes haunting through the silence…

The night; cold and numb, offers no escape either, but

Darkness promises to keep the secret intact,

Of a shadow broken, unseen through the days

Trampled upon, passing by, lost amidst the ruins

Of a solitude, raped and again…”

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“An irresistible urge to get drunk, and the bottle betrays you leaving behind no more than few droplets as if mocking you, asking you whether you could ever get drunk enough to stop, and you look around for alternative, but what could fill the glass? The night has been a habitual offender that leaves behind just enough traces of darkness every night to draw one in but soon leaves him behind asking for more but Alas! The dawn brings no mercy and despite having suffered repeatedly one cannot stop but fall prey to the seduction of the night, to the perversion it brings that the void would be filled with darkness until one falls for it and finds himself trapped in those moments that last forever as if lost in the maze of abysses only to be played around forever, buried beneath own flesh and bones.

It was becoming unbearable and more, he was finding himself insensitive to his own screams, pricking himself while wandering upon the ruins of his cries, the lies of night were far too predictable, the cruelty of the dawn were ever more dreadful.

Unseen, unheard, as if deprived of even own sight and hearing he looked for leftover bottle of poison, it was his only possibility of escape out of this outrageously vulgar display of indifference that he had collected for ages now. Alas! There were just enough droplets to give one glimpse of escapade but no more, and he was left longing and yet again…”

Drink Up…

“Drink up O Heart

Before the darkness fades

Before the dawn arrives

And makes a mockery of

What is leftover of you

For the night is not long enough

And there’s little time

To heal those wounds

That you continue to caress

Only to find them aggrieved

For you must stop

Collecting the bits and pieces

Of yours

Off the footsteps

Of none other than

But trampling of your own

For walking away is never an option

And the day would never accept

Your deceptive extravagance

while

Romanticism of bohemia

Could not make up

For the void,

For the desolation is

Only relief, if any

And once more

Drink up O heart

And let yourself melt

And drench

Within that glass

Soak in the mirage

That unfolds

Beyond the horizon

Of deserted stars

And a raped silence

Which finds itself

Scattered

In the gloom

Of inanimate space

Which pretends to be otherwise

And yet…

For better or worse

You would know O Heart

For now, Drink up…”

Praveen Parasar

13/08/2018

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

"He was struggling to understand this agitation inside, or perhaps troubled was the word. it was as if He was afraid of being afraid. He often thought that he had come out of the period of uncertainty and chaos, that he was rather calm and in control of himself now than ever before but the sudden realization was growing every day that it was as false as his understanding that he could, and just here he felt unsure of what. What could it be that was keeping him baffled, agitation or was it dread, or just the fear unintelligible? Whatever it be, it was proving rather crushing in its stealth approach and he merely awaiting anxiously to raise his head beyond the overwhelming waves of it where he sank and further, losing remaining of breathes, suffocating; this a nightmare he could claim possession of. He remembered the wisdom that the more you struggle, more you sink. So was he at the bog instead of the sea he always imagined? Does his remaining still would at some point help him out of the horizon of grey. he found it hard to concentrate and decide. He could not even make himself believe of any certainty that he could vouch for. As if he was exposed to himself, he now looks at the pattern of his behavior every moment he was in the world with people, and that included loved ones beyond the sea of strangers that for some reason he had continued to have a sort of curious faith that he could make friends with, chit-chat, laugh, and discuss grand subjects of era bygone, Oh! how in vain. And though He did make friends a few passing by, the futility of it was too vivid to deny. 

He loved this restlessness once, He remembered the nights he would spend drinking with loud music and beating down upon keyboard to bring out smudged words upon a dead screen. He often attempted to convince himself of the better and yet found himself imitating those moments secretly as though if found out he would have pity upon himself. He dreaded to be pitied, he was almost certain of it, was he not? However, could that alone explain the restlessness, or is it that he could never bring himself out of the insecurities that had shaped him, defined him and gifted him these moments of intimacy with words, and had grown around him as if a tree of banyan around a crumbling ruins of an empty building.

At the end of this, he tried for once to reconcile himself with the possibility that perhaps it was that book that was about to reach its end and the feeling would subside, like always, in a while; and yet somewhere he knew how naive it would be to be convinced of it..."

Tragedy of Wanderer...

Scribbling

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“God was constructed to overcome the fear one faced through the moments of day and night, light and darkness and such contrasts, the construction was supposed to help one overcome the insecurities and impotency one was born with in an universe that proved too powerful for a being that dreaded being at mercy of chance survival. It needed something to advance through the brutal race for survival in the jungle and in the process sought refuge in the ideal figure of the god who could protect, help, motivate, and even rewrite the script if an act goes wrong, the idea was to use an ideal figure that one could look up to and survive drawing strength from it amidst the exhaustion that followed the struggle. It was a rather brilliant invention. The ideal figure that was to be a tool to help one overcome the dread and anxiety alike, while placing it at the epitome of jungle that now carried nothing but mere animals meant to be controlled and ruled, while one displayed an unimaginable success among all others behind the mask of the ideal, the omnipotent god.

The narrative was supposed to be as ideal as the figure of god itself, and yet sooner than later one found itself at the mercy of that invisible being. What was supposed to help overcome fear became the zenith of all the fear summed together. The God turned into satan and the master became the slave. The rules of the game are still the same but the players have changed their place while the creation has taken over the creator, and has turned itself into a monster that carries the omnipotence along, and yet one longs for an escape in the dark hours of solitude, alas! Who could help now?”

Praveen Parasar

22/07/2018

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:
Tragedy of Wanderer:
"The half dazed fields are waking up to the warmth of the sun that has been dull in its own way, with its eyes pale yet without any sign of remorse, instead a sense of joy it carries, perhaps the hangover of the night before that it possibly spent in the company of exotic clouds brought about by ever so mischievous winds. Drenched in the touch of the night long gone, could it be still carrying the fragments of an embrace.
The sky is clearer now than at the arrival of dawn, the wind still looking an opportunity to play while the sleepy mountains at distance continues to look nonchalantly. The train is gaining speed and the whole imagery is turning into a state of trance like an artwork of Van Gogh. There are no stars here yet the flickering of sunlight appears them to be present while it itself pretending to be the moon, one the day has often overlooked in its forced chaos. While the journey continues."

The Tale…!

"The universe

Was born of a big-bang

Or so does the science say

And it was the chaos

That defined the world

For far too long

Before the order crept in

And came along

You, me, and us

The universe grew

Beyond the shadows of

Big-bang,

And grew the world, of

You, me, and us

Bursting forth

A horizon filled with passion

Leaving behind an insipid abyss

And came along

The bright colors of hope

For you, me, and us

Utopia, Indeed…!

Adolescence

just like the autumn

announces itself with vigour

flushed with a new found identity

carries itself beyond

the timid infancy of

the romance of summer;

The universe is grown

And so are

You, me, and us

Grown abound

Too much and too apart

For gravity to hold together

The universe waits

For the fall to arrive

And so do

You, me and us

Staring at a horizon

That is yellowing rapidly;

The black holes of void

Have grown too monstrous

Threating to swallow

Fragile pieces of

The universe

Just like the sense

Of you and me has grown

And threatens to swallow

The ruins of us

The chaos defines the universe

The darkness fills its core

The Universe awaits

Another big-bang, while

Rubbles of utopia

Strayed, adrift

Still burn over the sky

Of the dusk

Offering a glimpse of dawn

As if a star has broken

Just for you, me,

Or us?...”

Praveen parasar

29/06/2018

Scribbling

“The words, seething beneath

Abyss of darkness

And, longing to cry;

Tears often quench the thirst

of coerced solitude

And, the chaos amidst

silence…”

Scribbling

Scribbling:

“Insecurity devours like termites

The night weeps, passing by

Ruins of a hollow man.”

Tragedy of wanderer

Scribbling:
Tragedy of wanderer:
"Even when it continues to drag one down beneath the slop of moments and yet pretends to be the secret lover; loneliness, fancy of a troubled heart, romance set in the backdrop of words, scotch and the ever seductive night, a treat that promises one of a once of a lifetime experience, solitude, an offer not to be refused but alas! It turns out a trap used for ages and it successfully brings another one down even before the flicker of ecstasy could burn out. For the weight of its embrace soon strangles the one without remorse while out of breath one dreams being high and when the bubble of fantasy pops, leaving behind one shocked and shattered, suffocating upon the mirage of solace, screaming to be spared of the punishment meant for the one who falls for the temptations. The end of such escapade is rather familiar, a grave carrying no names but only the traces of chaotic darkness wrapped in silence."

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Survival betrays glory; Glory, for it demands defiance, as if to keep oneself together even if the failing, falling pieces would not fit back but rather are bound to leave behind a fallen castle displaying the crime to the world unashamed. While survival, it demands to override the protocol meant for displaying the honor and chivalry of dead. It rather demands to unnerve the untouched layers of guilt and fantasy hidden beneath the glittering but rotting pieces of flesh and bones. It literally rapes one mercilessly and leaves behind a piece of meat one would continue to loath forever, and yet the hangover of being survived would let one pass through all the mess accumulated around. Survival brings the worse out of one and it never fails to surprise how much darkness could one carry through all those days filled with noise of cheap laughter and hollow enthusiasm, while bleeding through the darkness in silence, watching oneself broken and hollowed, and yet…”

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Death is not a need, something to be fulfilled, or something to look forward to for it would bring a change. No even if the change is something one has looked for long time. Death does not fill the void for one, rather it remains a gamble one strives to play simple being overwhelmed of its charisma. Death may not bring what one has been looking for whole life, it may even fail to justify the trap one fell into unknowingly, and yet it lies at the end of all that ignorance. Simply being there, in silence, showing no sign of emotions, neither joy, nor remorse. And still someone lets oneself drown in its embrace, who could tell for what.”

Tragedy of wanderer

Scribbling

Tragedy of wanderer:

“Life! What else, but

Void, devoid of breath

There I watch myself

Die every moment

Crumbling apart

In slow motion

Dreading the voyage;

Death, indeed!

Here I live every moment

Watching it unfold

Frame by frame

In slow motion

Revering the finale

Cherishing the voyage..."

Praveen Parasar

16/6/2018

The Gods!

“High on morality
Drunk, lost gods
Carrying lights of virtue
Adrift beyond high ground
Soon drowned in the sea
Of fabrication
Of their own
Immoral as it was
And evil as it turned out
Leaving behind
Startled gods
Screaming for salvation
That remained a dream
Buried beneath
As worse as a curse
Of immortality,
Now they loath the days
Carrying a fake smile
And weep silently through the night
While struggling to keep their sacred wounds ajar
Awaiting forgiveness of darkness
Before their own morality forsakes them
Alas!
They turned out more mortal
Than they ever realized
Yet, Death remained a far cry
And no one to listen to
Their prayers, screams
Echoes of which
Continues to haunt them
Beyond the grey horizon
Of eternity…”

Praveen Parasar
15/6/2018