Debasish Parashar (India)

Debasish Parashar (India)

Debasish Parashar is a Creative Entrepreneur, Singer/Musician, Lyricist and Multilingual Poet based in New Delhi, India. He is an Assistant Professor of English literature at the University of Delhi. Parashar is the Founder & Editor-in-Chief of Advaitam Speaks Literary journal. His debut Music Video ‘Shillong’ from his debut EP ‘Project Advaitam’ released in the month of September, 2018. His write-up on Majuli has been listed amongst top 100 online #worldheritagesites stories globally in May 2016 by Agilience Authority Index. His literary works have appeared in Kweli, Sentinel Literary Quarterly, Voices de la Luna, Contemporary Literary Review India, Enclave/Entropy, The Ramingo’s Porch,, Expound, Asian Signature, SETU, Five2One, Moonchild and elsewhere. Parashar has been translated into Russian, Spanish, Romanian, Slovakian, Serbian, Albanian, Persian, Afrikaans, Indonesian and many other languages. Debasish’s works are featured in international anthologies such as World Poetry Almanac 2017-18, Epiphanies and Late Realizations of Love (USA), ‘Where Are You From ?’ (English/Persian) (New York), ‘Apple Fruits of An Old Oak’ (U.S.A) and ‘22 Wagons’ (Serbian) among others.

To know more about him :

http://debasishparashar.strikingly.com/

https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC-y452JwNqqBvDee6JMe6pg?view_as=subscriber

https://www.pw.org/content/debasish_parashar

https://www.jiosaavn.com/artist/debasish-parashar-songs/7LAFkHmKkhM_

https://itunes.apple.com/in/album/pamaru-mana-single/1339196541

 

Perfumed Gossamer
 
I love the way
You look at me
 
In odd seasons of the year
You deserve to kill
beautifully
 
I start
like poppies dried in sunshine
 
your hair
wet
yesteryears of monsoon
 
your skin
a perfumed gossamer
draped in scented tears
becoming poppies
 
In odd seasons of the year
you look beautiful
and
you look at me
with those
black unsolicited eyes
making yourself
more inevitably believable
 
that
I die at the end of that gaze of yours
like always
 
just to reborn
like seeds becoming sunflowers
in a field after tillage
insanely yellow
stupidly hopeful.
 
History of love is a history of inarticulation.
 
(originally appeared in Spanish translation by Mariela Cordero in Liberoamerica)
 
 
 
Of Sanskriti and Prajñā
 
The tipsy town topsy-turvy
tamarind flavored hunted a pair of eyes
 
prakṛiti and purusha hand-in-hand
handcuffed hornbills striving for a flight
across turmeric skies. What looks toppled
from above is not always a sanskriti.
And a sanskriti needs not always to be wise
I often ask myself what prajñā is after all
Folding your trousers when you are half submerged in flood ?
Standing in a queue when no one is around ?
Becoming a sleep-walker to escape insomnia ?
 
Now that I stand on top and look down
to find the tipsy sanskriti topsy-turvy tilted
in grief of its unheard screams I
think I know what prajñā is. Prajñā is
the samskara of playing songs in a loop,
listening lovingly to the songs of your choice
 
from a playlist not always set by you. Prajñā is
not leaving a cow alone in a desert to
survive its karma. Prajñā is to look inside to make sense of the continuous
tussle between sura and asura. What is good is not always bad.
The purusha is not always the Prakṛiti.
One is two at times and two are one at other times.
 
Prajñā was. Prajñā is.
 
 
 
Drunken Selfies
 
I am little drunk right now
as if I am naked and shot at point blank
 
for a ban
 
Drunk as if smitten by this
night lazily
femme fatale with disheveled cloths in her boudoir
 
Kamayani
 
This night is a crazy melancholy with eyes of longing
A pair of eyes with viraha can be so attractive
All puzzles are
 
I am so drunk that I can see
I can hear clouds killing birds with a tipsy sun and I can smell the sun breathe
I wish birds were a republic of sentiments
could fly a bachata
sensual and sexy
could fly like a frizzy piece of jazz cutting Van Gogh’s ear into pieces
Darshana is drishti
 
I am drunk right now
Really drunk
 
Sometimes my nights are full of dualities and paradoxes like drunken selfies
Sometimes erotic like a lazy husky voice
 
An oasis a plateau a carnivore a serpent
a prarthana an idiom a circle a kiss
a mrityu a confession
a moksha an apology
a shringara a trivanga
a karma an apasmara
a lihaaf a doha and what not
 
My nights have many faces
but not a ban
 
I wish I could fear death more than I fear formalities
 
(Originally appeared in Kwelli journal, New York).
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