Scribbling

Scribbling:

"Moments when your panache starts to dictate their terms and you find no other way then to follow like a sheep. Who could be the guilty after all if not yourself for allowing something to take over you while you enjoyed exaggerating it? Was that first sign of being loser, probably, or certainly. He wandered and wondered while hiding his face in the closet. it was too dark a night to show him his own flesh.  And it made him confront what he had been avoiding forever. After all you cannot run away from self for too long. Moments..."

Rest in Peace!

"When nothing makes you happy

But sadness

When only thing that excites you

Is tragedy

When only thing that makes you feel loved

Is being alone

For sight of the crowd makes you nothing

But lonely

When you can only see through it

At darkness

When days weighs you down only to look for

The dusk

When world seems to have lost hold of life

But dead

When it is only the hour of twilight that breathes a life

To those lifeless

When one drags through past

At present

When one attempts desperately to get hold of

The future

When you find your eyeballs watching you

Only to dread

When one regrets watching self secretly, being intimate

With flesh and bones, pen and paper.

When the moon reminds one of life at the death of

The sun

When one meets self trampling past an alleyway

As strangers

When sky seems to carry droplets that fell down

One’s eyes

While raindrops tap upon window pane

As if here to quench their thirst

When you find yourself scattered

At edge of broken mirrors

When you stop stitching yourself back, after being sliced,

And over again

When you know you are about to hit end of tunnel

Yet no slowing down

When you walk past yourself and whisper nonchalantly -

Rest in peace!"

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 14/10/2015

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Moments, when you cannot get high enough on alcohols but only blood, your own, which you must drain off your veins and collect in goblet you kept to grow a pair of dahlia by the window; Instead that goblet grew pair of eyeballs that hung there as if peeking in and watched him all through dusk attempting to drag himself out of that void. Void, which was sinking him down and deeper, there was no ground anymore beneath but an abyss. An abyss created out of his own flesh and bones, for his shadows were as shallow as drown dead body floating by a marsh.

It did not happen in one night, he did not even fall singe piece, for he was too stubborn to be dragged opposite so he insisted but hands of wall-clock pierced his ears and sliced through his lungs in the epitome of twilight, as if it were cooking a delicacy to serve the darkness, his royal highness, after all he was a faithful slave. And now, abandoned, Piece by piece he fell down as those notes hit the chord; his hands attempting to catch his leg, his leg trying to run behind his face, his face as twisted as a crooked finger-nail and made his heart screamed thinking of it a ghost. There was him falling down in pieces yet with a hope in his heart, his beloved night would catch him, stitch back his pieces, caress his scars and bring him back by the dawn before even he could himself realize he was neither alive nor dead but a spectre at large.” 

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

When suddenly out of nowhere he realized being at a crossroad, which way to go, which way to turn his back, which one to face up, dilemma was pinning down and it was a must for him to stand his ground. Strangely every side appeared to show his face, he felt he was walking down in all direction simultaneously, as they say in quantum mechanics of parallel universe he saw happening in that moment. Was he drunk, was he high or was he watching it happening being awake, he could not make up his mind. He kept on looking at them in certain awe. Apparently, none of those faces cared of him being there, they were acting as they did not know him; or may be knew him to be of no good to know. He was appearing wasted to himself. He felt embarrassed in front of them. He felt strong urge to prove them wrong, he screamed louder, and jumped down, away from them all. Alas! Force of gravity was too strong to design his speed, he could not breathe, black air filled his lungs and eyes burst out to give way to darkness within.

He remembers no more then, when he woke up to find his pieces lying all around. There was no face anymore. He did not exist even for himself anymore. He did not mind having no flesh and bones, for he just convinced self of being a stranger to him and shook hands. It was easier this way to carry scars of those violent moments of solitude. 

Drop by Drop!

Edward J. Steichen - Figure with Iris, 1902.

"Drop by drop

She collected darkness

And the night

Rolled down her cheeks

Onto her palms

This she raised

As if to let the moon

Taste her

In salted dreams

She carries

In her eyes

Where life gleamed

This she collected

Drop by drop

While passing by

The twilight hour

And lighted the path

For to show

Way to her dreams

Where they belong

Drop by drop

She collected herself

And the night

Watched her, mesmerized

For her wings

Made of broken glasses

Brought a thousand stars

Upon the earth

Beneath her feet

This she walked upon

Like a fawn

Scared a bit

Curious too

Watching night watch her

By the chasm

In the vicinity of moonlight

She kissed it

Held it close,

As if soul-mates

Who complete, fill

Complement each other, and

Drop by drop

They melted to be one

While the moon

Witnessed their romance

In chaotic silence."

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 07/10/2015

Waylaid!

"What could man do without guilt?

A sense of fear, sense of shame

Sense of regrets being all over

Only to buried, beneath

Lies! One watered whole life

What could man do without hate?

A sense of wicked desire, sense to kill

Sense to smell blood taking over

Only to be burnt in the fire of hatred

One kept the flames high several nights

What could man do without death?

A passion to kill, urge to fill

Lands with dead, while

Pretending to be animal

One always thought self to be

What could man do without life?

A dreadful journey to commence

One hitting walls and again

Yet dragging through flesh and bones

Only to be lost in the void of own screams

What could man do without darkness?

Mirror, which shows one more than one could hide

And lays down his body bare open

To be loved, despite being drenched in filth

While maneuvering hard to be loved back, alas!"

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 05/10/2015

Tragedy of Wanderer!

“Night screams

 Words whisper

A Lullaby

Solitude withered

Darkness offers solace

Embracing shadows

Fears howling

Trembling, stumbling

Eyes on a look out

Holding its place

Scars, stars

One must navigate through

In silence, at chaos

Loud heartbeat

Tick-tock, tick-tock”

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 29/9/2015