Happy EOY

Why does this craving for 'new' never run out of charm?

“To forget the dead would be akin to killing them a second time” said Elie Wiesel.

Why then do we always neglect the end,

That's already approaching death?

Why are there hell a lot of poems

About the rain and the sun,

The drops and the rays

And less, very less,

About the ground and the lake,

The mud and stagnant water

That stand by all the time,

Welcoming with warmth,

The cold and the hot?

Is life all about the new and the high?

Is there not enough space in our hearts for the destinations?!

Are we hiding our sentiments

And hunting for efficient soothers?

Or are we ditching them

Just because they are old and dusty?

We don't fail to look back.

We don't fail to thank.

But how many of us miss?

How many of us place right our priorities?

How many of us say in fear today, "I'm doing this today, because a day more will make this a part of next year in history"?

How many of us say with sparkling eyes today, "I am doing this tomorrow, for I want this to be a good mark on the start of a fresh year"?

End of the years get replaced as the eve of new years.

Wet and flexible grounds get replaced as heavenly pours.

Why should the last minute of the year be dedicatedly spent waiting for the new?

Why should the grounds that liberate the fragrance, give away all the fame to rain?

The new will hold for itself a big room of surprises.

But does the old need to reach the bin?

I thought the world was wide!

We might find less difficulty

Saying happy byes

And energetic hellos simultaneously.

We might forget the base

And sustain our heads high.

But without the ends,

Without the holders,

The ones we celebrate

May cease to exist.

So what now?

The clock is ticking

And the year is counting its months.

There's less time left

For me to mourn. And to wish.

Happy EOY, mate!