The affinity towards anything tragic has been inbred, the hardship the mind faces while estimating the consequences of letting go something that seems far more important than anything or perhaps everything; is no ordinary battle that lurks within: day in and day out. And, the battle in itself is a relief, a relief from indulging in those superficial moments that life is made up of. There is this melancholy and it seems blissful; just the right dose of sedation a hyperactive mind would otherwise seek. The mind lost in fabricating stuff, creating utopian wonders and in posing the if(s) and but(s); the cause and the consequence however remain the same: to love and to let go; to let go and to love.
Depressing thoughts that had evaded the mind for some time; now seem to seep in through the cracks; the cracks emerging out of all the collisions that has been rumbling in the mind; numbing it, making it futile for any reasoning to now make sense. There is nothing but a relief coupled with some amount of remorse, and that in all likelihood will stay, the rambling of the heart shall cease as the cause and now the consequence seem to converge : To let go !!
The mind had never estimated the repercussions, for it believed in none; with everything now bound to fade; fade into that zone of nothingness I had long surrendered myself to. It has been a toil, life which back then seemed nothing short of a Shakespearean tragedy had evolved into something hopeful, dreams had sprouted all by themselves in the backyard of a barren soul; made fertile by the presence of someone who tilled and planted the seeds of hope within me. To live, to love and now to let go; all but bears of the same tree.
All that I hope for now, is hope – against hope; the hope that a ray of light will make it’s way through and set the darkness free, the darkness was a hope too, still is. And, as confusion prevails; the ray of hope emerges. This is what I live for, and I will; that fine balance between the gloom and cheer; the ray of hope playing peekaboo; transfixing my mind by juxtaposing illusions of a gateway and an enclosure.
The will to hold on often surpasses the force with which you are being pulled down, destiny playing the victim and the culprit; life and luck taking turns in whipping the morale out of you, and out of nowhere: through the fissures of abandoned hope seeps in light; a frail trail of belief that it isn’t over until it’s really over. While the wounded soul licks the wounds of denial; maggots bleeding out of the rot of the past seem multiplying themselves. No it ain’t over, the struggle to hold on to the frail hope shall now define the battle; a resurgence of the will that seemed lacking it’s lustre, is now battle ready, to defy and to deny the forces of fate and destiny. Fate it was, when stars collided; the planets aligned and will it is now, to hold onto the fragments of the big bang, destiny it would be to hold onto whatever remains, to keep the flame sparkling and to cast the wonder in words.
“Promise me, you shall write” she had said; and, relief it is; to once surrender myself to that call again; with her words resonating in my ears as if drowning out everything else that exists. She’s here and so is the ray of light; setting my darkness free and as the confusion still prevails, I now know: To live, to love and to let go; are bears of the same tree.
abhishek purkayastha 