Outcast…!

“Being an outcast

Warrants discriminations

And obliterations

Just like those moments

That contains

The ghostly existence

Of one’s naked obsessions

Poisoned passions

Screaming,

Asking to be annihilated

Even before

One could investigate

The charges against

Guilty

while attempting to infiltrate

the holy ground of morality

for there lies faces

as blank as the sky

deprived of clouds

the high ground of gods,

and hearts

as cold as the dead

buried in silence, and

marked sacred

carrying the emblem

depicting

victory of light over dark

Salvation is a dream

That nightmares are built of

And chaos is what defines one

Being an outcast, Alas!...”

Praveen Parasar

09/06/2018

Tragedy of Wanderer

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“While they thought they knew each other too well to look close enough, they laughed upon the thought of either one turning out disguised at another moment, they rather chose to ignore the asymmetry they carried beneath their symmetrical smiling faces. They considered themselves immune to the charge of being dispassionate, for their passion was overwhelming even for them and yet they could not feel the choke the night started to throw at them at random, as if to wake them up while they could not sleep anyway. Perhaps they were immersed in each other’s sweat and curled in each other’s warmth, so much that those hurried hollow touches failed to draw any attention of them. And while that newly formed void started to swallow them silently, slowly, they thought it was them in each other’s arms – careless; being cared for, Alas!”

Clash…!

"The present

Lost in the gung-ho

Of tales of survival

Amidst

Juxtaposition of

Past and future

It cries foul

Just alike

The self

Lost forever

In the abyss

Of shadows, faces

It dreads

To reclaim,

Perhaps

Even allows to be mislaid

Yet, persists

Just alike

The traveler

Of desert

About to die

Of thirst

But insists

To crawl another mile

For there lies

A mirage

Just alike

The hope

One continues to carry

In those

Eyes, lifeless

Yet, wide open

Awaiting salvation

Just alike

The man from god,

The god from man

Seeing each-other

Eye to eye

While

Neither of them allows

Another to blink;

The universe moves on

To another one of

Battle-field,

Leaving behind

Graveyards

Marked with

Ignorance…

Alas!”

Praveen Parasar

24/05/2018

Catharsis!

"Longings of the night

Plight of the light

Dreams of the walking

Dreads of one, sleeping

And an existential crisis

Followed by

A scream

Off an abysmal struggle

Of being the creator, the immortal

The god

And being the creation, the mortal

The man

Staring at the uncertainties

Of being alive

Or dead, alike

They squall, and crawl

Beneath the hollow ground

Of mortality

And immortality

And yet, fall short

Of survival

At the face of

Catharsis, Exercised

By none other than

the naked solitude

Alas…!”

Praveen Parasar

20/05/2018

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“When one is rotten to the core and the stink is too much to bear; such was the situation he had to let himself be buried deep within himself before the call for sanitation startled the rookies. The sense of disgust was irresistible and he felt he could not keep himself from falling for it for too long anyway. Such was the feeling of hate growing within that before he could realize the consequences it had sucked him in, threatening his very existence; existence he had built on nothing but that bits and pieces of guilt handed over while passing by the moments of non-existent intimacy, one he denied furiously when confronted with but loved to flaunt in subconsciously. It was bound to fail, an attempt to draw attention while calling out the audience being ignorant. Oh! One is always allowed to imagine being too wise but only until the sense of betrayal belies the overwhelming sense of worth one insists on accumulating upon the skin, too fragile to carry another extravagant display of worthlessness, as if a shade of grey could salvage one at the brink of extinction; the burden of hypocrisy is rather too much to ask for the thin icy ground of morality. There was no surprise at the end, he ended up being swallowed in the same ground he had turned into a marsh out of his crocodile tears; rather apathetic as he would recall, but only if he could. Alas!”

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Tragedy of Wanderer!

The dark skies of the evening

Intimates of a forthcoming storm

While the howling winds

hustles the remnants of the day

and yet it fails to intimidate

a gloomy heart, which carries

the bits and pieces of it

nonchalantly, while walking towards

                                                                                   the edge of a cliff

holding on to the dear chaos

collected, over a walk through

the ruins of solitude,

a sacred piece of land, destroyed

off the fickle of a promise

the night never made, and yet

this mere thought; however hollow,

of having the night by its side

and the darkness to witness their romance

of having the screams finally echo beyond

the rumbling of ages,

and the fading trails of tears leading to the bosom

finally, to be unshackled of the consistent reminder

The dawn brought, of having being forsaken

Or simply being caressed at the end of it all;

Alas!

The hallucination

Marks the end

Of a journey

The fragile heart partook

Unknown of what it takes

To overcome the dirty tricks

Played upon

By none other than

the self,

drunk upon

the words…!”

By: Praveen Parasar

Date: 13/5/2018

Tragedy of Wanderer!

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“The romanticism of masochistic self-destruction could be tempting, but only to them who have not being subjected to the sadistic rituals of being destructed carefully. They must be naïve, for the reality of being destructed by someone is much more than a mere revelation, it is as if you are put on a trial you did not expect and even before you realize you are pronounced guilty, only to be awarded the honor of being at receiving end along with irreparable consequences, bonus? One that turns you into a ghost, presents you with a paradigm of nightmare, while you find yourself dumbstruck trying to regain before it’s too late, knowing you would never; after-all it was you who wanted it, no? Imagine watching yourself being torn away, piece by piece, in cold blood, without showing a least of emotion, while you are unconscious perhaps, or drunk, may be even sedated, does it matter? While you are in an orgasmic adventure being stomped, spit upon, abused and raped, your conscience killed, you turned into a living zombie having no soul. Soul? Would you even remember having any entity of that sort, for being declared morally bankrupt you are supposed to be as hollow as those words spoken for the victims of a disowned genocide who could not find a place in the after-math report being filed by indifferent officials who appeared rather in hurry to finish off before its noon.

Though at the end of both the difference isn’t much perhaps, leaving aside the bits and pieces amid leftover ashes of a burnt identity and a drunk solitude.”