Floating!

"Good or bad,

What did I say?

Before words fade

Through the dusk

Leaving behind

A void

Which makes one sink

Deep down

Beneath own shadow

In vicinity of moon

Stark naked

To confront myself

I look into eyes

Of my own

I see images

Filled with words

Rolling down

As droplets

I collect them

In my palm

And taste them

My mouth stiffens

Stroke of spasm

I cannot speak anymore

I blink my eyes

As if collecting images

As a camera does

For they may say thousand words

Which I failed to utter

In embrace of solitude

I touched my body

And it fell as if a dried leaf

Out of a flower, silent

In the Garden of Eden

As if a drop of rain, falls

In a goblet by the window

Only to be left resonating within

As dawn approaches in Far East."

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 05/09/2015

Scribbling

Scribbling:

“When you try too hard to scribble every single word you see hovering across but nothing comes out at all, only to leave you feeling like cheated in worst possible ways. For the only thing that feels to belong to you is words, and when they too leave you stranded at the start of night, you feel the horror of darkness. you feel scared to even open your eyes and find your shadow strangled and dumped by your feet. Your own breathes starts to chock you, and those drowning words; which you couldn't pull out of ocean of thoughts, starts to fill your lungs, only to sink you beneath and watch your struggle for your life. By every passing second you find yourself melting bit by bit as those ice-cubes in your glass of scotch.”

Dreams!

"She hides herself in clothes

Filled with holes, yet takes pride

In what she is beyond clothes inside

And, carries her head high

Despite feeling shy, and why not

For she knows it is revealing itself

Part of her flesh and skin peeking through

Despite wanting not to, or may be

Why care? For she cannot help it,

For she does not want to be stared at

With a sense of cowardice lust, or to be pitied

For she consider herself content,

For she sees a large hoarding right across

A naked girl wearing diamonds in her neck

And she does not even desire diamonds

But, her pride that she wears

It may not be able to decorate itself, but

It can certainly decide

Whether to take sides, or

Remain at sidelines, ignored

To watch them watch her

Being a mere spectator

Dumb and deaf, as she is supposed to be

And, clap upon their claim of understanding

Over what she might be in need of, alas!

And as the dusk approaches

She stitches herself a gown of life

Patched with hopes, and wears it

As evening wears darkness

For what else she could hold on to, where

Everyone else is adamant to remind her

Of her half-clothed body, and eclipsed dreams."

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 29/08/2015

The Mirror!

"

A piece of broken mirror, mere glass?

I Hold it in my hand and look

It asks for whether I have a painted face

One to absorb, one to reflect

One to see and one to show

Faces, I see at the edges, sharp

Known-unknown, before cutting through my fingers

Drawing blood which screams their identity

Scattered pieces of broken edges

Carrying red droplets, freshly licked out of veins

Blood, for what else may paint

What lies beneath shadows, upon canvas,

Of sight through blind eyes, or

Layer of petty ignorance we choose

And while attempting to wipe it all clean

I lose skin atop bones, hollowed

out of tussle amidst truth and lies,

This stands now as if a Skelton

Retrieved from an age-old grave, screaming

Its tale of regrets and fear

And while I bring out the courage to face-off myself

I watch in horror its bid to stand-up

And watch me watch it in mixed emotion

Should I be afraid, or I should be brave

Perception changes when you stand near a grave

I watch the sky turning grey

While day comes to an end, and

Night slowly making its way

Bringing along plenty of darkness to let me hide, yet

Only to make me lay upon bed with self,

Choice of love and hate on offer,

For darkness shows what light manages to hide,

Amidst moments of confrontation, while

I look into my eyes, only

To get drown in self-orgasm and deep breathes."

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 24/08/2015

Tragedy of Wanderer:

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Suddenly he realized he does not belong to any place, he is as much lost as a homeless drowning at sea, while navigating desperately to reach at a destination which does not belong to him – said time and again while he dies in those attempts. Probably no destinations belonged to him; he is made to be wandering forever. He felt like a comet passing through planets once in a while carrying hope that it might put another set of life in a new place, it could rehabilitate a new earth, only if he knew it would come only at a cost of a life already existing which unfortunately happened to be his own every time, or fortunately? He wondered, being lifeless despite carrying seeds of life, hidden beneath layers of darkness upon a passing by piece of rock. He started fearing being seen or recognized, he tried hard to remain a stranger, he pretended to be unaffected by faces and voices around for one might turn out to be known and ruin all his effort of years in a fraction of second, he felt his knees trembling, he stumbled inside a dark alleyway in a hurry, being just a passer-by who nobody cares to notice only to be lost in dead of night once again.”

Scribbling:

Scribbling:
"as one dissolves in droplets of alcohol,
as one burns through the candle flame;
as one gets stuck in essence of drunk shadow,
as one remains unburnt beneath candle fire..."

Scribbling

Scribbling:

It is not full moon tonight, it is not perfect, yet it tempts even more, probably not being perfect, not being blue moon or blood moon yet being an imperfect broken piece of moon that reflects off sunlight off its face as moonlight, ever so soothing and beautiful. Probably perfection ruins the yearning, you get nothing to complain of your companion - even yourself, nothing to demand, nothing to offer, for it being already perfect you feel dazed and lost in its perfection, you feel it being too grand and yourself as tiny in front of it as non-existent. I love moons in pieces as if self, being broken and bleeding through the edges, with a sense of incompleteness, it makes me feel as if some pieces are missing, as if some pieces has been lost in darkness around. It doesn’t feel bad for darkness is as much important part of moon to exist as much that light off the sun. Probably it is only darkness that could fill the moon full, for light never gets to see it complete. I love the moon in pieces floating in darkness around.