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Under the Skin


Tushar Parashar

The days are peeling off

like a scorch is shedding

its outer skin, to give space

and support to the new layer,

But it still hurts.

The shadow seem ebbing away

in the light of the sun,

Insooth, it is evanescing into

that ever widening encrust

of heart's rock-bottom

never to be found again.

But to be trans-formed.

The lust to meet new people

is so lost in time,

like a toddler loses interest

in toys of youthful joy.

It loves them.

But still throws them away.

The chilly winter breeze

frightens like succumbing

oneself to tuberculosis,

slowly and obliviously.

But still one lives.

The hope for hope is lost,

it sleeps unwarily,

unflappable and untouched

by the daily wars

of pity nuisance

fought by instigators.

But it still exists somewhere.

And in this charade of emotions,

the one baffling emotion is

to sit in front of a screen

listening to creaking 'voices'

and gazing 'faces'

which feel the same,

but still do nothing.


Preface: The poem talks about the state of deception which people live in. It is unbounded not only to students sitting on screens but to each individual who considers the screen as a layer in front of everyone's eyes through which people overlook other's emotions. 'Faces' are not just faces of people but also give hints to a wider definition of human outlook and ideas.

Tushar, a believer of hope with no hope for himself, believes 'Karma' in disguise of his idiotic actions that make sense only to him. Rock and Hindi Classical music is his thing. A reflective individual with no time to post anything on social media.

Instagram: @waytotushar

Tushar Parashar
Tushar Parashar
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