PARASAR'S

Perhaps...

2020-06-02T22:56:00.000+05:30

“Perhaps
Love isn’t the answer
Perhaps
Love isn’t enough
Perhaps
Beyond the desperation
To reconcile
Beyond the attempts
Of acceptance
Beyond the dread
Of divide
Love fails to guide
Perhaps
Love isn’t capable after all
To provide
What hate could
Perhaps
Lurking beneath
The shadow
Of identities
Germinating
Across the horizon
Of indifference
Persisting
Through the death
Unaccounted for
Through the life
Uncared for

It’s the hate
Only hate
Alas…!

Praveen Parasar
02/06/2020

To say...

2020-05-19T00:57:00.003+05:30

"How do I say
What do I say
Perhaps I have said everything
That I had to say
Or maybe I do not have
Anything to say
Does it matter?
Do we must say?

The words fail the longing
Longing fails the logic
And the logic offers
Little solace
It could never anyway…

Innocent
Or ignorant?
The heart!
It asks for a monument
A tombstone
Neatly erected
Upon the ruins
Of their breaths
Whispers, Sighs
Where stranded
And
Trampled upon
Lies the silence
Silence
That brought them
Together
Silence
That carried
Them, together
Silent
They lie
Miles apart
Yet, together…”

Praveen Parasar
19/05/2020

Tragedy...

2020-03-16T16:25:00.000+05:30

“Cry your heart out

Drown in your blood

Turn into a corpse

Bury yourself in thin air

Let yourself be suffocated

Stifle the body

Let your screams scare you

Let your breaths burn you

While your own hands strangle you

Fear being seen

Hide from yourself

While your own sight cripples you

trapped within own skin

Crushed beneath dreams

There’s no escape no more

Surrender, suffer

(Suffer as if you loved)

The night is afar

The eyes little ajar

Tears all dried

Whispers all belied

Who could you turn to?

Still expect sympathy?

You can’t play clown for too long

Declared a pariah

It’s time you give up

You deserve no pity

You deserve no mercy

Your lies are tired

Your manipulations laughable

Caught red-handed

You couldn’t convince no more

The days loathe you

Night mocks you

Still throwing the dice?

Selling from half dug grave?

Your wisdom is rotten

You are only buying yourself misery

And some more

Claiming to be

On the journey

To salvation

Where there’s no salvation

But only tragedy

Alas…”

Praveen Parasar

16/03/2020

Let us…

2020-03-15T17:24:00.000+05:30

Let dreams be the judge

Let night be the reason

Let passion be the fire

That burns through us

Let distance be the devil

Let past be the hunter

Yet let imagination be the way

That allows us to escape fear

Let us fall prey to the world

Let us fall apart to the day

Yet let darkness bury us

Where we could go astray

Let us turn evil even

Let us drag us away

Somewhere beyond the veil of

Goodness, and pray

In the alleyway of our bodies

Let us meet halfway

Let us turn each into an abyss

Where we could fall and sway…

Praveen Parasar

15/03/2020

Tragedy of Wanderer

2020-03-02T15:57:00.000+05:30

Scribbling:
Tragedy of Wanderer:
“To watch yourself dissolve bit by bit in the shallow puddle of hatred, and yet getting the taste of it. Being consumed by the crystalized angst, like that ice cube in the glass and still holding on to the last of droplets, while asking for more. Dread feeds upon the fear, or is it rather insecurities, while lies offers to insulate. Claiming to be steady, not giving up so soon he screams, one must enjoy trampling upon own remnants, the hangover doesn’t hurt that way. The night is not even half way through, bottle remains wanting, the darkness sleepy, the clock refusing to tick tock, while one hallucinates being hallucinating. Tragedy?...”

Tragedy of Wanderer

2020-03-02T15:54:00.002+05:30

Scribbling:
Tragedy of Wanderer:
“He was lying there, motionless. The night was ready to dissect him into pieces, he knew it, but that didn’t scare him. He was used to be pulled apart, broken into bits and collecting them every morning. For now he was readying himself to be suffocated. The evening was heavy, and the night was delayed. He couldn’t wait anymore. A sense of agitation took over him, he wanted to get it over with as soon as possible, but then who doesn’t. He realized it too. He tried to breathe and stay calm, but he felt rather like a corpse who couldn’t breathe, and it only added to the agitation. An agitating corpse, amusing he thought. But he didn’t give up, he couldn’t, to be precise, he was determined to put it all in order. But once turned into a corpse you do not have any control over anything, including yourself. He realized it too, but it was too late to correct himself. Drowning in that glass all he could do was to suffocate.
He was banished to the far side of the grave, where even screams appeared to be whispering, while he couldn’t even whisper. Alas…!”

If...

2020-03-02T15:52:00.002+05:30

They wouldn’t have entered

They wouldn’t have feared

They wouldn’t have met

They wouldn’t have heard

They wouldn’t have dared

To cross themselves

And engage

With the other

They couldn’t have witnessed

Poetry, and

Poetry would’ve

Continued

To elude

Them…”

Praveen Parasar

24/02/2020

Tragedy of Wanderer

2020-03-02T15:50:00.003+05:30

Scribbling
Tragedy of Wanderer:
“He thought he belongs to them all, and then he was reminded of his ignorance in a sudden blunt reminder. He couldn’t react, he found it hard to fight back, the realization of being left stranded was too much to handle, but he agreed to find a way. He didn’t want to let himself appear vulnerable, but he cared no more, it didn’t matter anymore. He was vulnerable, on display, naked, showing no signs of resistance, rather humbled, he was standing there to be conquered…alas…!”

Control...

2020-03-02T15:48:00.000+05:30

Control

power of control

It asks

To stay in control

You must

Exercise control

With control

Yet

You can’t stay

In control

Get out of control

Don't control

Fight for control

What control

Such addiction

Beware of affliction

The pain would numb you

The pain would seduce you

The pain loosens

Control

You couldn’t control

You should control

You must control

You have to control

You are losing control

You can’t lose control

Stay in control

Scream, cry

Laugh, lie

Fight, die

Get around

Get high

Try harder

Try, but why

Try you must

But can’t you just

Get over control

Could you ever

Get over

Control

Why and what

The more you think

The more you lose

Stay still

Drowning

Overwhelmed

You suffocate

You suffer

You imagine

Being

In control

Out of control

End of control...”

Praveen Parasar

14/02/2020

Suffering...

2020-03-02T15:21:00.000+05:30

“When you wish to suffer

But you can’t suffer

Yet you suffer

For suffering eludes

You long for it

Yet you can’t have it

As if cursed

You ask for it

You look for it

In joy

In sadness

In laughter

In cries

From days

To night

From darkness

To light

You scream

You glean

You seethe

Yet breathe

While suffering continues

To suffocate, you

It haunts you

Through the dreams

And nightmares

It tempts you

Through the pain

And fears

It kills you

Through those smiles

It brings you back to life

Through those tears

Falling in its abyss

You resist, protest

You surrender, hesitate

You plead guilty

You claim innocence

Yet in the end

Nothing matters

But did you suffer

Did you suffer enough

To find solace

In suffering

Alas…”

Praveen Parasar

06/02/2020

Scribbling

2020-03-02T15:17:00.003+05:30

Scribbling:
"There’s no sleep
Only if eyes could speak
The words
Who rather choose to play
Hide and seek
Beyond lights
Beyond darkness
While the night sips
Through half ajar gazes…"

Being a pig

2020-03-02T14:50:00.000+05:30

Scribbling:
Being a pig:
Socrates once said, "It is better to be a human being dissatisfied than a pig satisfied...” Now there’s no question over authority of Socrates, but one must think for once of the poor pig. Being outcasted by none other than the great Socrates, Oh, who could dare save this creature now.

However, the pig remained steadfast in his enclosure, mudfesting, grazing over poops infringed upon him as insult. Showing least of concern, he was good being ignorant and indifferent. He knew the advantages of being the pig. He couldn’t care less for being loved or hated. All he knew was to snooze upon the dirt and filth, it was his only known specialty, and perhaps he was proud of it too. He still believed he could make a great companion though, Alas!...

Hate...!

2019-12-22T20:32:00.000+05:30

Hate

we must

Hate

for it is just

Hate

As much as

You could not love

You could not live

Hate

For if it leads you to

your voice

Hate

If it connects you to

Each piece

Of you

You could not

Collect

You could not

Connect to

Pieces

You would not want to

Confront too

Hate

Even through your corpses

Beyond the graves

Let it trample upon

Let it scream through

The life

Allow it to bury

The days

Of you, me

Watch it burn

The night

As well

Hate

If that brings you

Alive

Hate, you must

indeed

Adrenaline

Is seductive

Let it suffocate

You

While you

Struggle to hate

Your love to hate

Alas...!

Praveen Parasar

22/12/2019

Scribbling:

2019-09-18T10:34:00.002+05:30

"As it rains
Those sleepy windowpanes
Offer
To tell a tale
Of a thirst
Yet to be quenched
Of a romance, lingering
In every gaze
Of a longing
In every sigh, whispered
Of a love
Yet to be loved
While those parting lips
Await
To be kissed
Again...”

Hallucinations...

2019-08-30T18:57:00.002+05:30

“It’s dark inside

It’s dark outside

It’s raining outside

It’s raining inside

There are droplets everywhere

Tears, blood, alcohol, water

Floating around

One wanders

And wonders

Why can’t he break free

Why can’t he find ground

To shatter upon

To fall in pieces

And watch self suffocate

Drowning in vomit and saliva

Death is distant still

As if an utopian dream

It’s a free fall

And there’s no escape

Trapped for eternity

One continues to believe

The rain tonight

Would wash him ashore

Afresh again

Soon, soon

Alas…!”

Praveen Parasar

30/08/2019

Words...

2019-07-28T18:44:00.002+05:30

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“I was born among words

Grew up among them

Saw them see me

Rise above the grave

Still marked by the trails of,

tears and wounds

Lost nights and stifling days

Silent cries and trembling laughter,

Only to realize suddenly

I had overgrown them

There were no words left anymore

Neither darkness to comfort

Nor brightness enough to hide beneath

Left stranded

I still await

Another word

To suffocate me

Another word

To sing me a lullaby

One more word

To sleep with

One more word

To wake up with

I await

Another birth

Another death

Alas…!”

Praveen Parasar

28/07/2019

Tragedy of Wanderer:

2019-06-30T19:07:00.000+05:30

Scribbling:

“It was all too familiar a feeling, a feeling he had been awaiting for long, a feeling of a forsaken evening, awaiting for the night, awaiting for to find a place to hide, to hide beneath the veil of desolation, isolation, desisting the tears to put on the vulgar display of vulnerability, trails of which haunts him all through the day. For despite knowing there is no escape one cannot but attempt one last time, and alas! What awaits is not the escape but a trap in an abyss, abyss that one considers sacred, abyss which consisted of broken bits and pieces; and yet, where one could finally look at himself and feel at home. Home, where darkness flourishes and there’s no mocking of devilish days, where he could wander around naked and yet feel no need to hide his wounds. Wounds, collected over time, collected through the allegedly happy moments, marked upon by forced laughter and crushing embraces. Embraces that engulfs one, moments that suffocates one, and buries one for ever beneath their bullying shadows. And yet here he was holding that glass, drowning in those leftover droplets slowly, letting those trails upon his skin disappear while he watched himself suffer, suffer as if to celebrate his freedom. Freedom, the word that makes even the death smile, and why not...”

Tragedy of Wanderer

2019-06-02T19:02:00.001+05:30

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Where does the violence take you, where do you want to go? Could you ever escape, escape even from whom? You don't even have an enemy, but you, you craving to suffer, craving to watch yourself wriggling, like a trapped fish, yet acting as if you could swim away. You can’t get away, not when you have chosen the path of suffering, chosen to worship your wounds. You crave for air sitting in your rat hole, and you suffocate once the fresh air hits you. You have given up on life, yet life clings to you like an obsessed lover, while the death awaits you around. You could weep and yet the tears would elude you. You are guilty, guilty of being a manipulator who thought he could see through the rule of the night. You have sold yourself to the darkness, yet you expect yourself to be seen in the light of the day, what mockery you make of your own. Oh! Do you not know that you don’t get to choose your own conviction? You have no other option but to face your shadows, shadows that come alive at dusk, and remind you of your nakedness, your vulnerable flesh and bones, expose you of your dirty lies, make you taste your own blood and overwhelm you. The wounds that you worship are bound to turn into ghosts that haunt you. The heat gets unbearable, drowning in your own sweat, you scream; only to end up being buried in that void, hollowness of your voice suffocates you, breathes burns you, your own smell disgusts you, yet the endless abyss accepts you. You don’t die, remember, you are never to die, but to suffer. Forever, alas!”

Sin…!

2019-05-01T21:44:00.000+05:30

You did not commit a sin

I did not do any wrong

It was just days of glory

And we were young

We could feast upon the darkness

And watch us melt through the night

We could rain upon each other

And watch us turning into rainbow

Rainbow, which could scream

Our names, across the horizon of

Silence…

We were almost immortal

And we did dare to defy

Gliding through the forbidden

We were children of the gods,

Their dirty little secrets

we were naked and drunk

Oh! We could dance

We could sing

We could fly

We had wings

As long as it lasted,

As much joy did it bring, yet

soon came the end

Sudden and abrupt,

We could not even blink

Being mortal and guilty

We were chained through the walls

Of good and evil,

We were shattered into pieces

And we were sold to the devil

We were hanged

And we were stoned

Sacrificed upon the alters

Of the same gods

Alas…!

Tragedy of Wanderer...

2019-03-22T21:04:00.001+05:30

Scribbling:

“Trail of scars

Wounds ajar

Longings of blank page

Silence brings about chaos

Darkness exposes

The night offers no mercy

Choking upon words, unsaid

Drowning upon the tears, unshed

Grave, abode of exiled...”

Praveen Parasar

22/03/2019

Imprisoned...!

2019-03-15T18:47:00.000+05:30

“In hope

We are born,

And again...

In dread

We die,

And again...

As if cannot help

But evade,

Our self...

But the void

Remains,

A stark reminder

As if imprisoned

Forever

In anticipation

Alas...!”

Tragedy of Wanderer...

2019-03-03T23:07:00.001+05:30

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Loneliness is like a love that only grows through the distance. Being afar only adds to the passion. Even a mere glimpse proves enough to revive the wilting senses in same way as a traveller rejoices upon a glimpse of the land after being at the mercy of cruel sea for ages. Knowing you would be welcomed in its embrace with all the same fervour, only reignites the longing. However, while poor traveller continues to wait to reach the shores, you end up creating an island of solitude within the sea. You make love upon those same waves, amidst all the noise, oblivious of all the constrains. Melting through, drifting apart, drifting within. Manipulations of the day or night doesn’t concern you anymore, for you find yourself enveloped in a sense of darkness that remains indifferent to overtures of either one. A loyal lover, loneliness promises to find you. Indeed...”

Tragedy of Wanderer:

2019-02-24T19:55:00.003+05:30

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Orphaned by the day, forsaken by the night and the grim prospect of survival often forces one to prostitutize one’s modest immodesties. They have surprising ability to save one from drowning beyond the limits of life saving despairs. All it needs is pervertization of ones dreams while fetishising about the nightmares. Exaggerations soon leaves you asking for more. You have to dug deeper, beyond the manipulating tempestuous sight of glittery flesh and bones, there you may come to find the hidden treasures of ecstasies. He couldn’t resist licking his wounds, he thought he was keeping them clean. Those insignificant flies pose a significantly greater risk to one’s existential crisis than the dilemmas of despair, perhaps because for them it is just another piece of rotten meat, while one persists to keep it as a souvenir. You are what you eat, but you are also what you leave in the plate. He didn’t like to leave anything behind, he was greedy, couldn’t resist the temptation to devour all of it, even at the cost of being gagged and choked to death in his own vomit. There was nothing to be disgusted about, given a chance perhaps he would have licked the surface clean too. Alas…!”

Tragedy of Wanderer...

2019-02-17T16:53:00.003+05:30

“She saw him sleeping by the window. Even though she knew he was here to kill her, he didn’t appear dangerous at all. He was sleeping like any other man she had been with, and yet she was drawn towards him as she had towards no one else. Rather she explored the idea whether he could really harm her, and if yes, how would he do it? She was not sure, but she felt no danger from him at that moment. Instead it was as if she was drawn to explore the idea how would she like him to kill, if he does decide to do so. She lay down near him and as if in a state of trance imagined him exploring the melting skin of her. She felt thrilled as she imagined him exploring the inches of her skin with a murderous look in his eyes, as if she was an oracle, to be sacrificed on the altars of the god, to be turned into an immortal for ever. She felt his gaze turning her naked, his fingers gripping at her weak points, his tongue wickedly greedy to devour the pound of flesh. she felt being torn apart, thrown and rolled down the path of sin. she could sense the cold steel across her throat, that could in a instant release all that was stuck in the prison of her body, as if she could fly beyond herself, never to return back. She was swaying vigorously in an orgasmic euphoria and she oozed beyond the boundaries of herself. She was flowing all over the stagnant geography of her’s, as if taking over her own mortal remains, drowning in her own abyss, floating in her own mirage. she reached beyond herself as well as reclaimed herself that moment, and it didn’t matter whether dead or alive, as if she wanted to announce he could not kill her (without her permission!).

He woke up to a loud thunder and felt as if a lightening had struck him. She was lying there, motionless, near himself, naked in all her glory, at once at peace and chaotic. He could not make any sense of her. He could never understand her anyway, as if she remained a mystery to him. He felt stranded, so near to her yet so far. She had transcended herself and here he was, on a mission as if to reclaim her, only to find himself defeated and humbled.”

Praveen Parasar

17/02/2019

Tragedy of Wanderer...

2019-02-10T19:48:00.000+05:30

Scribbling:

Tragedy of Wanderer:

“Consume, or be consumed. There’s no reprieve. You must act. Rush before its too late. For there’s no place for cowards. You must accept your fate as dictated, fall-in and be a part of the spectacle. But remember you can show your loyalty both way. Whether it is your head on the altar or your hand on the naked sword awaiting to touch the very altar, you remain celebrated. There’s no place for spectators though. They are to be consumed, as little worms consume the corpse, inside out. No mercy whatsoever. You are licked clean even before you realize. However it must be clarified - they were dead already, thrown out of system, declared outcast, good for nothing corpses. Their flesh and bone beyond recognition.. They could not hold their own weight any longer. Having been consumed at-least they were given a chance to pay back, for they must remain indebted, even in their graves.

He often wondered whether he was a corpse too. His must be a rotten one he guessed wildly, for he could not feel any piece of meat hanging around. Did they forget to charge him, or was he too hollow to be consumed. Perhaps he had consumed himself a long back. He was like a parasite addicted to his own blood. He could not let anyone else taste his flesh. He had turned into an abyss, and he was falling within, in an eternal oblivion, never to be resurrected. Alas…!”