Scribbling:Tragedy of Wanderer:


“There’s darkness in my mind
I can’t see beyond the night
My ears hear nothing
But silent cries
O, what could fill the void
But some more of it
Generous as it is
Nostalgic as it remains
Embraced in the bosom of chaos
You are welcome to feel at home
While drowning
In an abyss of what-ifs
There’s little to think of
When you are high on words
Unsaid, unheard
Cluttered and scattered
All mixed up
Serving a deadly cocktail
While you struggle to keep your eyes
Wide and awake
Drink up my friend
There’s nothing to be scared of
They kill without remorse
Ruthless as they are
Cold as a blade of steel
Let your blood fill the inkpot
Let the rapture
Burst open, remind you
Of the orgasmic euphoria
Beneath the weight of leftover
Confessions
Perhaps they wouldn’t betray
Like those tear drops
Who refuse to follow the trail
As if a jilted lover
Seeking revenge
Alas!…”

Praveen Parasar
26/11/2022

वक़्त


“कोई दूर है
कोई पास है
किसी को रास्ते की तलाश है
किसी को मंजिलो की आस है

किसी शाम की उदास सी
पलकों पे मानो थम गयी
वो जो रात थी, स्याह सी
वो जो दिन उजाला ना हो सका
वो अन्धकार की छाँव में
पलता हुआ
बढ़ता हुआ

वो जो व्यग्र था
उद्विग्न था
अशांत सा
अनिश्चित सा
वो हृदय
अब भी भटक रहा
कभी नींद सा
कभी ख्वाब सा
कभी लड़खड़ाते कदम मगर
कभी डबडबाते नयन अगर
उन थरथराते लबों पे फिर
आती कोई पुकार है
कुछ सुनी हुई
कुछ अनसुनी
कही अनकही में खो रही
वो जो शब्द थे वो चूक रहे
वो जो न लिखा वो बह गए
स्याही की इक इक बूँद में
ढूंढते खुद के निशान
फिर थक गए
फिर रुक गए
फिर गिर पड़े आगोश में
थमती सी सांस की ओट में,
सिसक पड़े
निष्प्राण से
ना सजा मिली
ना उम्मीद थी
वो जो कविता खोखली हुई
वो जो अर्थ बेमानी किये
ना सवाल रहे
ना जवाब हुए
बस टुकड़ो में पल पल
ढल रहे
इक वक़्त जो बीता हुआ
इक वक़्त जो ठहरा हुआ… “

प्रवीण परासर
07 /09 /2022

Tragedy of wanderer..


Scribbling:
Tragedy of wanderer:

“Look the window pane doesn’t reflect anymore, It’s just there, a silent witness to the night going by. You can’t see the moon anymore, the trees across the hall are mere spectator, there’s neither any cloud nor the wind, the night is dead and gone, and for the good perhaps. You could simply claim it to be the dark day and no one would bother otherwise. The dusk has set in, matters little though, given its only evening that still carry the grey; if you are looking for a way to escape. Look over the walls, they don’t seem interested in listening to your gibberish, neither the doors or the windows. Tick tock of the clock is too much for the walls, they wouldn’t pay any heed to your groans and moans, you better march on my friend, see if you could still find a few drops hanging by in that glass. Drown, let yourself sink, beneath the noise of drunkards, remains the lullaby for the guilty. Confess, let yourself be judged and simply pretend to be asleep. You don’t exist, you never did, you better learn to learn that, this way or whatever. Solitude is a treasure, better kept locked and unannounced, hidden in plain view, just like the darkness through the days. Alas…!”

Praveen Parasar
03/09/2022

Tragedy of wanderer:


Scribbling:
Tragedy of wanderer:


“Are you looking for salvation
Or is it just the guilty conscience
Afraid of retribution
Fear being held responsible
For something you couldn’t even do
You are a coward
You always were
You held back every time
And thought of it being
Generous?
You are a willful ignorant
You reek of arrogance
Your lies
Your pretenses
Your made up
Tales, suffocating enough
For anyone to
Accompany
Anybody to survive
Nothing strangles
As poorly as so called
Intellectual trap
There’s little to repent
Or so you think
Well, think again
Cause, you are under scrutiny
And deserve no mercy
The night has little to offer
To someone pretending
There’s little to hide
Where darkness reigns
One that encapsulates it all
Yet everything remains
Bare naked
Little to hide
Little to show
Unlike days
Where nothing goes
And nothing remains
Of man
Offering his soul
For a penny
For a hug
For a piece of warmth
And receives
A cold shoulder
A hollow glance
A made up node
And then you know
You deserve it
Alas…!

Praveen Parasar
21/08/2022

Tragedy of wanderer


Scribbling
Tragedy of wanderer:

“The sky doesn’t turn grey anymore
The day boasts of its light and noise
The night sulks beneath it’s void
The darkness hides in the alleyways
Of dried tears
A few screams here and there
Left along the way
Somewhere, there are words
Though leftover, still alive
Awaiting salvation
Awaiting a hand, but
Where am I?

I am guilty of poisoning the words
Declared an outcast
I plead guilty
Verdict was always the same
I seek no retrial
Once condemned
There’s no redemption
You must suffer
You must not struggle
Strength is a trap
Do not let yourself imprisoned
Submission without condition
Answers without questions
Sleepwalk, as if a master
Dazed upon the light
High upon the life
Let those blank sheets ridicule you
Let those droplets elude you
Let the empty glass fill you
Desolated, but together
Let the contours of fading shadow
Of a shallow evening
Give you shape
Give you a shade
To lie beneath
And offer no claim
Upon the broken pieces
Of the night and day
Of truth and false
Of right and wrong
The morality is trap
We allow our detention
While being imprisoned
Forever, in the
Web of consolations
Where do I belong to
The question is irrelevant

What matters is plain and simple
The monster feeds upon you
And you upon the monster
Hollowness demands
A piece of you
Again and again
And so do you
Crave being hollowed out
And again…

Alas…!”

Praveen Parasar
13/07/2022

Tragedy of wanderer :


Scribbling:
Tragedy of Wanderer:

I have no voice left
There’s little left to express perhaps
Or Is it the words, that
They are not dark enough
They don’t carry the weight anymore
They are as hollow as the nights

I am hollow too
Sinking beneath my own weight
Weight of my shadows
I doubt if they are hollow as well

The voice doesn’t matter no more
The words doesn’t count
The night isn’t prized anymore
The darkness isn’t dark enough
I have nothing to express
Perhaps I never had anything to

Stolen words don’t last long
Neither the night nor the darkness
Nothing persists as the contours
Of a blank page
Staring through the hollowed out eyes
Asking nothing, and yet…

Praveen Parasar
11/06/2022

Meanings…


Scribbling:
Tragedy of wanderer:

“Silent night stands still
Darkness isn’t dark enough
No one screams anymore

Who to complaint, and what for
I was a nobody
Nobody recognises me anyway

Those words conveyed too little, too late
Claims of poetry notwithstanding
They are yearning for the meaning still…

Alas…”

Tragedy of wanderer


Scribbling:
Tragedy of wanderer:
“ The candle is about to fall silent, it has burnt itself to the core already. There’s no salvation of the candle, forget mercy. It was about time anyway. But remember, no one is banished out of night, it accepts everyone all the same. Everyone must be allowed to suffer without any discrimination. The night is long, the night is dark, the night is ruthless. The night exposes what the day hides. Though you must remember, the night neither asks nor answers. The night is desolated, the night is an abyss trapped within itself, as if cursed to witness it’s fall, drop by drop while the clock continues to play tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. You must be ready for a long haul, he was reminded of the wise words. It doesn’t matter anymore who said it and why, all that matters is the relevance of it. Glass next to the candle is empty. Perhaps it’s waiting to be filled, or does it loathe being filled even. He wondered why being empty always imply a desire of fulfillment, after all voids could fill someone all the same. No?…”

Tragedy of Wanderer


Scribbling:
Tragedy of Wanderer:


“You thought this was a fight you could win? As ridiculous as it gets, you must know there is no fight, there is nothing to cry for, scream about, struggle for or hope about. Indifference and ignorance work just as fine. Wondering and wandering are poisonous to pursue. Ignore the spectacle of the day, sleepwalk through the alleyways of the night and you would arrive at the evening passing by without any noise. All you need is handful of evenings in your scheme of things. Quitter than the day, livelier than the night, it offers refuse to the darkness but continues to the carry the shades of light however faint. Persisting amidst the abyss of white and black, the grey offers a sense of escape, though stops short of salvation. you cannot escape the suffering, but you can choose to not acknowledge it. Be the man, even gods fear them. Alas!”

Broken Glass…


Broken glass
It can not carry
Neither droplet
Nor darkness no more
It offers neither reflection
Nor a peek across
Pieces of its own
Lying abound
Trampled upon
Thrown about
It carries no face no more
But mere contours
Of sleepwalking shadows
There are some images though
Scattered around
Who is it?
Me? You? Somebody? Nobody?
Does it matter even?
Broken glass
Carrying puddles
Of leftover words
Offers little solace
To one stranded,
Drowning amidst
The shallow depths of those pieces
But the sharp edges
Does offer
a little reminder
of silent screams
that taste and smells
of blood
as raw as it gets
enough to get one drunk
through the
alleyways of
a night
as broken
as the glass
alas…!

Praveen Parasar
11/05/2022