This is the time, to say something, that has stuck in me like a shard of glass. Rasping deeper and deeper every time I move, to let myself unbridled of its pain. The attempt to forget brings back more pain than remembering itself.
This is the time to thank, bow down, let the vanity wash away, strip in front of your angels, unwind from that wringing tension of carrying on, ignoring, unseeing, pretending, most of all, that you are alright.
This is the time to be true, to look back, and start believing in that almighty design, that guides or designs your steps, your choices and your eventual life. Not that belief in destiny is irrevocable, but there is something, which according to many, and among them, me, makes all this worth dwelling in, no matter how many times you screw up, now matter how many malicious intentions your have tended, no matter how much you have pandered to avarice, no matter how much you have erred... Perhaps its people, perhaps its irony, perhaps its life!
Whatever, all credit to this something, you can say, let bygones be bygones...
This is the time, that things might change, they might be doomed in circumstances, they might flourish, or sink in that inescapable inconsistency known to the world as mankind. Apparently, the first half of the word and the rest and colloquial opposites of each other.
This is the time, to sit back, and surmise, what has increased and decreased, what has been added or taken away, the meanings of profit and loss. Distances. Many have been beautifully revived, in spite of the miles, and some have been co-operatively snapped off, in spite of the time.
This is the time, to begin and end. Recuperation does not always mean recovering, sometimes its preparation, sometimes its desperation, sometimes its drifting away.
This is the time, to have that glass of your favorite drink and exchange what you could not have done yet.
Things that were, and those that were not, and also those that were not the way you meant them to be. Ones own airy commitments to oneself cause pain. Expectations and hope, are more wrenching than betrayal, because its something that you nourished all this while and it turned its back on you.
Distance does strange things to us. Even months of staying away doesn't mollify that which isolation could have. Its an existential dilemma, to approach or not, and in which way should one do it. Leaving it is too irresponsible, you tend to lash back in almost vehemence. Putting it on the table is being uncomfortable, you try to evade it and are constantly dazed by the effort of perhaps bringing it in a less acerbic light.
What does one do then?
This is not the time for all of this. What happens, is there, was meant to be, and lead wherever, to its end or towards a more vigorous phase.
Let it be. May it be better. May we get the direction to make it better.
Amen.
This is the time to thank, bow down, let the vanity wash away, strip in front of your angels, unwind from that wringing tension of carrying on, ignoring, unseeing, pretending, most of all, that you are alright.
This is the time to be true, to look back, and start believing in that almighty design, that guides or designs your steps, your choices and your eventual life. Not that belief in destiny is irrevocable, but there is something, which according to many, and among them, me, makes all this worth dwelling in, no matter how many times you screw up, now matter how many malicious intentions your have tended, no matter how much you have pandered to avarice, no matter how much you have erred... Perhaps its people, perhaps its irony, perhaps its life!
Whatever, all credit to this something, you can say, let bygones be bygones...
This is the time, that things might change, they might be doomed in circumstances, they might flourish, or sink in that inescapable inconsistency known to the world as mankind. Apparently, the first half of the word and the rest and colloquial opposites of each other.
This is the time, to sit back, and surmise, what has increased and decreased, what has been added or taken away, the meanings of profit and loss. Distances. Many have been beautifully revived, in spite of the miles, and some have been co-operatively snapped off, in spite of the time.
This is the time, to begin and end. Recuperation does not always mean recovering, sometimes its preparation, sometimes its desperation, sometimes its drifting away.
This is the time, to have that glass of your favorite drink and exchange what you could not have done yet.
Things that were, and those that were not, and also those that were not the way you meant them to be. Ones own airy commitments to oneself cause pain. Expectations and hope, are more wrenching than betrayal, because its something that you nourished all this while and it turned its back on you.
Distance does strange things to us. Even months of staying away doesn't mollify that which isolation could have. Its an existential dilemma, to approach or not, and in which way should one do it. Leaving it is too irresponsible, you tend to lash back in almost vehemence. Putting it on the table is being uncomfortable, you try to evade it and are constantly dazed by the effort of perhaps bringing it in a less acerbic light.
What does one do then?
This is not the time for all of this. What happens, is there, was meant to be, and lead wherever, to its end or towards a more vigorous phase.
Let it be. May it be better. May we get the direction to make it better.
Amen.
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2 comments:
DISTANCE does strange things to us.. it perhaps sums it up for all of us.. doesnt it? i prob. understand ur angst better than anyone.. even though patiala's far closer to delhi than rourkela is.. distance does strange things to people... cudnt agree more.. i suppose you'll be leaving soon for the next semester or have already left.. either way... a new dawn.. a glorious future beckons! amen...
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