Goodbye, Dear Father: Epilogue

(Kindly read the last part first, if you have left it due to indexing)

Memories are a precious gift. Memories make up our lives. Memories make us what we are today. Memories define experiences which we receive everyday. I have collected all of those, and have tried to conserve them, so that their essence is not lost, and probability of forgetting them during many other discourses is minimal. A lifetime is spent doing daily chores, and something special comes out of those daily discourses. Life is an object so mysterious, that stays in the duality of situations. It hangs in between two situations, and remains a quest to reach on the other side, but as the other side is reached, the path becomes further long and the meanings of second positions change. As one reads, someone else’s life, it becomes an impressive journey, like flickering sketches of an animation, changing positions, colors, creating an illusion of movement. In the end, something is left incomplete, unremembered and to be completed by someone else. The journey goes on. as the wise Buddha says- “It is better to travel well than to arrive.” 

A MYSTERIOUS LIFE

A life so mysterious
Hanging In between
Crowd and Solitude
Achievement and loss
Destination and start

It needs something placed
Roughly at the centre
so it could revolve
smooth and free
Without extremities

It’s a strange search
To find that centre
Replace loneliness
Working too hard
To strike a balance

A life akin flattening,
A crumpled paper
Reading within
Crest and troughs
And finding a meaning

A life so expressive
Woven like a poem
Half left unwritten.
In search of an author
Waiting to be complete

Abhijit Datey
16.03.09