I wrote this, back a few days, inside the computer lab, amidst the hustle bustle of a crowded college. That’s my work place I just referred to, by the way. I planned to write something on the concept of “ending.” This thought was actually a way to distract my mind from the very real fear of death and endings of good things. What I actually wanted say was that the new series of i-poems, titled “Grace” is ended. However, the sense of ending got the best of me. I was not comfortable talking about it that way. It was an odd familiarity that I associated with heartaches, sorrow, and helpless loneliness. Then I realized, after four days of writing the piece below, the sense of pain, sorrow, and loneliness is not unique or personal to me. Many of us feel the same way towards death and endings, and consider it wise to hide this topic under the cupboards, or in the dark corners of our ever-vigilant minds. We are wise, aren’t we?
They say everything that has a beginning, has a pact to sign off, and there is really nothing to fear in it. The truth is, when I wrote about the metaphysical concept of endings and beginnings, I was afraid of something. And now, when I re-read what I had written, I feel fear once again. This time, it is not the fear of ending, or jinxing poems by saying they have ended, but of a seriously mundane sort. I worry that I do not understand clearly, what I had written below. It evades my understanding. I no longer feel it important to say what I had said four days back, when I first sat down to write an epilogue. Anyway, I would not like to waste words for nothing. Let them say what they want to convey.
Take your chances, friend. Read them, and see if you can decipher these words, for me. Tell me how you feel down below in the comment box, OK?
Ending of a season never means a break in the process nature performs. When a season gives way to another, we mean transformation. The peculiarity of this sort of transformation is its cyclical nature. One season ends, another begins, only to give way to yet another. On another level, we see the same season returning at another point in time. A cycle of immense complexity is nature. Nothing ends in nature, entirely. End is relative to linear continuity. Non-linear continuities are marked as ‘ends’ and in some cases, ‘changes’. I would not, commit the fallacy of hasty generalization, here though, by saying History repeats. Or does it? I leave it to you.
Discuss, debate, and ponder; find out what matters and what doesn’t. If you feel something does not matter anymore, you think about ending it. How sure are we to carry the concurrent rejection of an idea into the future? In other words, are we sure not to change our current perspectives about any idea later in the future? End comes around and goes as far as the beginning of another end. Then it changes into another turn, another era, and another movement.
My latest series of i-poems, titled “Grace” ends here. However, this ending suggests a cyclical process that will give its offspring at the turn of the next season. When the sun goes into its next solstice, certain things would surely strike chords with my inner being, and the rush of poetry would break lose. I will share them with you, then. For now, let the present take over and the flow of linearity to be disturbed by this ending.
Well, I think I did it. Pheww! I always feel nervous about ending a series of poems. They seem to shriek out to me, ‘when are you going to summon us back?’ And, by the way, it sounds like I did a good job at winding it up, talking about endings, I mean.
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