A MOMENT LOST AND LOVE WITH IT AS LIFE UNFOLDS
Often there is no point in the love of the hour, there is worth in eternity. Often there is all that is to the moment, philosophy is a barren chase. The moment enfolds all there is, life's but a garland strung out of momentary dreams. It is a shadowy call like the crickets beckoning at nightfall unto a destiny half-recognised, yet, dark, unknown. It is a mix of light and shade as of a monsoon morn or an autumnal afternoon, each bearing out characteristics clear of their respective domains, but the mind moves not along such defined patterns and fashions fresher pastures even in ignorance, in delusion delightful, in distressing delirium, for it can only move on or be made to move by the pulse of the planet where it has sought refuge, but move it must without rest, a tireless pilgrim in quest of purpose till it finds itself. Such then is life, moments of love strung to form the necklace of Nature to which it must account for all transactions. And when the deal is done and the business wound up, the boat, anchored thus far on the bank, is set free to rush through the living light unto a sublimity serene.
Written by Sugata Bose
No comments:
Post a Comment