Invisible!

Invisible!

Invisible, he was, we are

For a mere matter of flesh and bones

Why lights do not penetrate through?

Darkness does, swiftly caressing

It kisses and whispers

After-all, to see is nothing, but a reflection

Reflect, think

Proof of being alive

Being dead, you watch, or act like

Drink, gulp down, let it dilute

Blood! To feel high is sign of life

Rusted, dusted, yet clock’s ticking

Dry, as it gets

Piece of leaves

Fallen beneath rose-plant, morning of summer

Summer, heat brewing

Let us dive in oblivion

Memory burns

Spring passed, yesterday

Years passed by, between him and world

Mere numbers, names, days!

Neither alive, nor dead

A shadow waiting for lights to fade

Dusk arrives slowly, scream in silence!

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 09/04/2014

Tragedy Of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy Of Wanderer:

:What he was made of, he often wondered. For those beats of music scattered him like a piece of leftover clouds and those words upon blank sheet collected him like a bee gathering honey drops one by one from those little half opened flowers. He was vulnerable, he was hidden, he was drifting apart, he was lost in between and no one knew when and how. He watched them pierce one by one for being unable to guard him and what reward one could accept being failed in having an eye upon him. After all he let himself loose. How dare he? He was the culprit. He knew it from beginning. There was nothing to regret for. He was awaiting someone to cut him in pieces and throw them in the backyard for eagles to celebrate. But he would not surrender immediately; he would raise his glass high and celebrate along, cheers! For one last time, Alas!"

~ Praveen parasar

Wanderer’s tale!

Wanderer’s tale!

To play

To lie

To smile

To cry

Do I want to run?

Do you want to cling?

Do I want no more words?

Do you want to tell stories?

Questions I skip

Answers you blow over

Left longing and feeling

The heat beneath cold skin

Dry and humid

Heavy dump air

Suffocates? Break-free, walk-over

It was a dark room anyway.

Dirty stained sheets

Smells strange, curtains changed

Things thrown here and there

Only to be seen hours later by cleaner

Nothing’s past

Nothing’s in future

Carries the moments all together

All the time; hey, take a sip runner

Part of it then, part of it now

Parts of you, parts of me

Part by part it comes

Part by part it goes

To sway

To sink

To track the trails

To lose the tail

To change the bits

To be changed in bits

For-ever!

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 03/04/2014

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“While sitting and having his food, alone in that rather peaceful rooftop cafe, he saw an eagle sitting right in front atop that street-lamp post, watching over the crowded streets below. It fascinated him, it always did, for their powerful big feathers, sharp claws (that he often saw in pictures, carrying fearful little rabbits, snakes and lambs with all authority), its hooked beak; as if ready to tear one apart. He felt as if it was looking for its prey out of those so called fashionable people drifting amidst dirty masses of beggars, sellers and roadside walkways eclipsed with flies. And then suddenly he felt a cold shiver down his spines, to know that he too would be walking down the same street in couple of minutes as soon as his food would be over. His mouth slowed down in sudden distress, he wished to eat for ever there, and at-least till that eagle is sitting there. He felt too nervous to finish his meal and go down. It felt as if that eagle is now waiting for him only, to come down and walk through those streets. He would fly over and dive down to clutch him like a helpless lamb in his claws. He almost screamed out of that nasty thought."  

~ Praveen Parasar

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:
Tragedy of wanderer:
“Waking up to sound of rain drops falling in the balcony, as he looked out of window and smell of damp soi,l fresh leafs filled his lungs. Somehow today it reminded him of his village house where he spent his childhood. An old style house made by his grandfather whose first floor had smaller windows and wooden flooring, and in every rain there was this damp smell of wet woods, surprisingly similar to what he felt today standing in the balcony (though these were coming from the designer gardens of neighbourhood) he remember spending key moments standing there, especially in rains, as fields around got soaked and flooded, he awaited for rain to stop to go out and watch those fishes come out and play, about whom his village friends told him with lot of authority, ‘they are fishes that stays inside ground and comes out when it floods here, sometime they even comes from sky.’ it used to fill him with a kind of excitement and he used to look above and down wondering if any of this were true or they were fooling him, but frankly what did he care, it was more fun to watch those fishes play.
Alas! Being away, having lost that house, a thought comes in mind, what prices we pay for growing up and what does it bring? Nothing, but memories.”

~ Praveen Parasar

Tragedy!

Tragedy!

Tragic as it could be, for a flower

To be plucked and placed beneath the pages

Of book that carried words of love

One that became its graveyard, buried, though

Neither dead, nor alive, but left

To suffocate, chock and cry

As pages ate its soft fleshes, inhaled drying smell

To get high, and held its bones as

Monuments of love, a fine treasure

To preserve, indeed! As ages passed by

And time lost trails, yet screams remained confined

Lost, drowned in own tears, as fire within

Scattered ashes, burnt forever

Being in love, and cursed!

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 19/03/2014

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:
Tragedy of wanderer:
“Travelling made him feel alive, he felt as if being on the top of a hill facing winds from the Himalayas, full of life and magic. And today again sitting inside that train compartment was making him feel similar. Though not for the first time; it has always been a favourite. yes! he was feeling his blood flowing again, especially after a night of panic-attack, Oh! He really needed to get out. Staying at the same place for too long made him feel like dead, like that smelly pond, stinking of itself suffocating, chocking of own smell. It was same for him, he wished to look outward sometime, to breath fresh air, to fuel a new sense, a new question as constantly looking in made him sick. Seeing his own self over-powering him, it was too much for him, though that’s what he wanted to do, his ultimate wish, but not in hurry, he wanted to feel it slowly and how? by travelling.
Sitting by the window of swiftly rolling train through those very still farms and fields, woods as if in a sense of contempt, lost, slowly entering into the darkness, knocking at the door of night by dusk. Those tiny bulbs flashing now and then at a distance gave him glimpse of darkness and he wondered to know, what else lies there. Darkness erases the difference between being and being not. Everything lies inside and yet nothing exists. As he wondered!”

~ Praveen Parasar