Metamorphosis…!

“Devoid of people

Those buildings

appear

As if

vague memories

Fading

in its own grandness

Which fails to recognize

The occupants

Sooner or later

Standing still

indifferent

Amidst the ruins

Where screams of

Trampled nights

And made-up days

Turns them slowly into

A macabrish corner

Carefully quarantined

To keep away

What is wanted no more

Until a chaotic attempt

Of someone

to fill it

to inhabit

the uninhabitable

to grieve upon

to mark it as one’s own

as if a broken graveyard

one digs in desperation

only to end up adding his own

version of bruised breaths

Alas! for

Beyond those hurried recognitions

And forceful recollections, to reclaim

those buildings

instead now appears

As if a ghetto

carrying

people, wanted no more.”

Praveen Parasar

22/10/2017

Search

“Looking for a moment of silence

Long before I fall, dead

Long before silence encompasses me

Engulfs me, overwhelms me

Looking for a moment of silence

Long before I fall, deaf and blind

Long before the darkness turns into an abyss

Of an ever growing void

A cursed spectator, a spectre

Looking for moment of silence

Long before the silence itself lays bare

To haunt me of its nakedness

To seduce me, tempt me

Make me scream, drown me

In my own dirty exaggerations, intentions

Leaving me at the mercy of the days

Scattered around, trampled upon

Looking for a moment of silence

As if to taste the death

A distant glimpse, an introduction

Long before I fall, addicted

Long before the longing kills me

Buries me in the depths of

My hollow conscience, empty volitions

Sacred fears and cheap regrets

Looking for a moment of silence

Long before I rest in peace, alas...”

Praveen Parasar

03/09/2017

The words…!

“When the words fail

To hold us dear

In those frightful nights

And leave us behind

Stranded with solitude

We still cry for it,

Look for it in the blackness

Pick its bits and pieces

Scattered around

As if the stars

And attempt to rhythm a moon out of them

A moon

Too dark to lighten up

And fill the void

Of a forlorn night

Haunted

of its own shadows

blinded

Of its own agony

overwhelmed

Of its own volitions…”

Praveen Parasar

20/7/2017

The Ritual…!

“As if the ritual

To burn

To suffer

To scream

And pray

For salvation

At the feet of the bygone

As if the pacification

Being a privilege

Of corpses

As if the cries

Are meant to be

Lullaby

As if the tattering shadows

are meant to carry

the weight of darkness

in the wide open graves

robbed of its gloom

off the wailing nights

where silence is a delicacy

often served dipped in

blood and tears

where luxury of solitude

requires one to pay

the price of

emancipation

to the mob

that enthralls itself

at the sight of

kneeling heap of cowards

and treads upon

their hollow groan

chanting liberation

as if a ritual

to succumb

to fall, in

an unavoidable chasm

of regrets

as if a ritual

to perform

the sermons of life…”

Praveen Parasar

20/7/2017

Funeral!

“Droplet of words

Collected over time

Hardened enough

To withstand

The wrath of silence

Placed carefully

one upon another

Erecting a tomb

For

The beloved scream

Who died

Isolated, stranded

In that grave

Haunted of its own

Unable to escape

Walls of the days

Built around

Thick enough to

Suffocate

passing by nights

And strangle

The leftover darkness

Kept hidden

Beneath those eyes

Wide awake

Watching themselves

Being stoned

By the rocks

Made of blank papers

Carrying stains

Of tears

And leaving behind

A trail of withered solitude…”

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“As if one must have something to identify with. Be it language, color, religion, nation, tradition, culture and the list continues to habits and interests. What defines our existence is not our intellectual capability but our ability to carry on the legacy of animalistic past of having an identification as a must to survive in the jungle where only rule that applies is survival of fittest and fit are only those who could make themselves a part of something, and hence the primordial struggle or rather conspiration to form and break them. There is no individual existence, having nothing to identify with. You don’t exist as a phantom, with a mask or blank papers. Ask god, even they could not, alas! 

Mirage…!

“I could feel

our love

like a droplet of rain

upon bare skin

on a hot summer afternoon

I could feel it

Like the smell of

Dust, dry soil

Being drenched in rain

As if I was being drenched

In your smell

I could feel it

Like the lazy sunshine

On a Sunday morning

Sneaking inside

Taking a peek

Kissing you softly, and

Watching you watch it

Melt, drown in your embrace

I could feel you

Like a vague dream

Lucid enough to be believed

Being real, a mirage…”

Praveen parasar

18/06/2017