Unseen…!

"Every drop of tear

Which decided

Not to roll down

The face, scared

Ended up

Wearing down the eyes

Which were already fragile

Off the weight

The night carried

And yet, as if

Intimidated

Of being caressed

It surrendered

And sundered

though

It was a mere touch

It was more than

The weight of

All the vulnerable

identities, collected

Over several nights

And days too

Bits and pieces of

Screams

Broken down

While passing by

The frail trail

Of insecurities

Echoes of it

Crouching beneath

The skin

There lied one

Naked,

ashamed of being

Seen

Or just afraid

Of being there

Forever

Unseen….

Alas!"

Praveen Parasar

13/4/2018

Tragedy of wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of wanderer:

“What better way to destroy yourself than to find a sense of pleasure in watching yourself destroy yourself, probably with so much of ‘yourself’ that the destruction is rather a cold follow-up routine than being a surprise or otherwise. The masochistic urge is rather appealing and no wonder if it succeeds often and without being tagged as grey as the sadistic counterpart, perhaps as it is about a mere solitary confinement, but is it? Probably turning away from it all was starting point or maybe it was just when nothing else seemed to make sense, or possibly it was just meant to be destroyed, an overwhelmed sense of self drenched in reason of why and why not, bogging down to weight of what-ifs while it could be nothing more than a mere narcissistic urge to narrate it all in a certain cosmetic language but what does it matter for it never makes any sense once you settle down to take a look of reason and find it all being a heap of mess, confused of its own identity, questioning its own existence. Being vulnerable is never meant to be an option and yet he came to believe he was the one who was the author of the script, or so said the narrative that ended on a rather familiar way. It all follows down the same path, gravity of impulse is too strong to carry the glittering picture of survival beyond the boundary of solitary night, or could it be just the loyalty of being faithful to one’s agony. Berkeley said, ‘it was all just mental and nothing existed physically’, Some moment when one wishes it to be true more than anything else. Alas!”

Decree…!

"What could quench the thirst

Inflicted through the journey

Of seclusion, and mortification

Of being greedy

For a few droplets

Of tear

Mixed with blood

Drawn incoherently, yet

A sedative of rare properties

And grave

Ramifications

That would belie the silence

Left behind

For ages to come

An eerie void

Is bound to appear

At the bottom of

The chaos, and

The screams

(rather a chasm)

Which continues to echo

Through the insubstantial frame

Of utilitarian prison;

Perhaps disguised

As an obligation

Rather than a blunt ignorance,

Constituted solely

For the purpose

Of confining

The cries

Of one

Demanding salvation

Alas!

Sooner or later

The thirst consumes itself

And leaves behind

a trail

of dried blood

and dead teardrops

That leads nowhere, but

To the fear

Dictated upon

the shreds of

very skin

One had attempted

To cut through

And to escape

Perhaps…”

Praveen Parasar

03/04/2018