ink bridge

We often wonder how life and its things begin, how love is found, how joys are treasured. On this lookout we often forget how it all will end. How life would cease to be. That last day is the hardest thought to cope with, to let go of all that these moments hold for us. Even our incomplete fate, even our unfulfilled wishes. Even this imperfect story is too dear to let go. And in this retrospect our gratitude magnifies. This is where true happiness lies. This where the mind meets clarity, and the voice learns modesty.

A world racing against itself. Chaos. Cacophony. Far cry. And snap! A moment of great pause. An ever-long halt of the senses. An inevitable irony in the scheme of things. A spell-breaking crack in the routine. This is it. The moment of euphoria. The moment of trance. A resonance that extracts from inside each of us a victim. The world is slowing down. Emancipation is near.

Not a whisper, no wonder, no check on the heart. Blood would clot, flesh shall be wrought. Not a dime worth of task, not a shell worth the hiding. No autumn, no rains, no summer blaze. One day the mind would be quiet, the lips frozen, the eyes a meek shadow. Ink would dry, but the words would stay. Write on.