Tragedy of Wanderer:

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Orphaned by the day, forsaken by the night and the grim prospect of survival often forces one to prostitutize one’s modest immodesties. They have surprising ability to save one from drowning beyond the limits of life saving despairs. All it needs is pervertization of ones dreams while fetishising about the nightmares. Exaggerations soon leaves you asking for more. You have to dug deeper, beyond the manipulating tempestuous sight of glittery flesh and bones, there you may come to find the hidden treasures of ecstasies. He couldn’t resist licking his wounds, he thought he was keeping them clean. Those insignificant flies pose a significantly greater risk to one’s existential crisis than the dilemmas of despair, perhaps because for them it is just another piece of rotten meat, while one persists to keep it as a souvenir. You are what you eat, but you are also what you leave in the plate. He didn’t like to leave anything behind, he was greedy, couldn’t resist the temptation to devour all of it, even at the cost of being gagged and choked to death in his own vomit. There was nothing to be disgusted about, given a chance perhaps he would have licked the surface clean too. Alas…!”

Tragedy of Wanderer...

 

 

 

“She saw him sleeping by the window. Even though she knew he was here to kill her, he didn’t appear dangerous at all. He was sleeping like any other man she had been with, and yet she was drawn towards him as she had towards no one else. Rather she explored the idea whether he could really harm her, and if yes, how would he do it? She was not sure, but she felt no danger from him at that moment. Instead it was as if she was drawn to explore the idea how would she like him to kill, if he does decide to do so. She lay down near him and as if in a state of trance imagined him exploring the melting skin of her. She felt thrilled as she imagined him exploring the inches of her skin with a murderous look in his eyes, as if she was an oracle, to be sacrificed on the altars of the god, to be turned into an immortal for ever. She felt his gaze turning her naked, his fingers gripping at her weak points, his tongue wickedly greedy to devour the pound of flesh. she felt being torn apart, thrown and rolled down the path of sin. she could sense the cold steel across her throat, that could in a instant release all that was stuck in the prison of her body, as if she could fly beyond herself, never to return back. She was swaying vigorously in an orgasmic euphoria and she oozed beyond the boundaries of herself. She was flowing all over the stagnant geography of her’s, as if taking over her own mortal remains, drowning in her own abyss, floating in her own mirage. she reached beyond herself as well as reclaimed herself that moment, and it didn’t matter whether dead or alive, as if she wanted to announce he could not kill her (without her permission!). 

 

He woke up to a loud thunder and felt as if a lightening had struck him. She was lying there, motionless, near himself, naked in all her glory, at once at peace and chaotic. He could not make any sense of her. He could never understand her anyway, as if she remained a mystery to him. He felt stranded, so near to her yet so far. She had transcended herself and here he was, on a mission as if to reclaim her, only to find himself defeated and humbled.”

Praveen Parasar

17/02/2019

Tragedy of Wanderer...

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Consume, or be consumed. There’s no reprieve. You must act. Rush before its too late. For there’s no place for cowards. You must accept your fate as dictated, fall-in and be a part of the spectacle. But remember you can show your loyalty both way. Whether it is your head on the altar or your hand on the naked sword awaiting to touch the very altar, you remain celebrated. There’s no place for spectators though. They are to be consumed, as little worms consume the corpse, inside out. No mercy whatsoever. You are licked clean even before you realize.  However it must be clarified - they were dead already, thrown out of system, declared outcast, good for nothing corpses. Their flesh and bone beyond recognition.. They could not hold their own weight any longer. Having been consumed at-least they were given a chance to pay back, for they must remain indebted, even in their graves.

He often wondered whether he was a corpse too. His must be a rotten one he guessed wildly, for he could not feel any piece of meat hanging around. Did they forget to charge him, or was he too hollow to be consumed. Perhaps he had consumed himself a long back. He was like a parasite addicted to his own blood. He could not let anyone else taste his flesh. He had turned into an abyss, and he was falling within, in an eternal oblivion, never to be resurrected. Alas…!”

Fallen Romance...!

"Ignoring presence of the other

We pass by nonchalantly

As if mere strangers

Oh! The night

How could you turn so cold

How would the tales be told no more

What of the pains we promised,

What of the wounds we are yet to inflict

What of the broken pieces we owe

To each other,

There is no hand to hold no more

there is to be no solace anymore

The tears are prohibited

The lies are to be abound again

For The eyes lifeless, the heart

Turned into stone, falling

Through a chasm

Where are you headed

Where am I going

Unknown, indifferent

We continue to live

Together in our deaths

Oh! What tragedy

And to announce the arrival

Of yet another fallen romance

There lies a wall clock

A mute spectator

Of this primordial struggle

When the darkness is not dark anymore

Chaos pretends to be silent

While silence appears remiss

The moon is dead too it seems

Buried in the bosom of the dusk

While the dawn lurks somewhere

Amused, peeking through

Awaiting to steal

Whatever bits and pieces

Left of them

After-all, they have forsaken each other…

Alas...!"

Praveen Parasar

02/02/2019