DippyBlogs (dippyblogs) wrote,

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A step over a puddle

Its like stepping over a puddle.

Like walking through a a mass of tall dry weeds 
           Thinking its just a small (though dark) park 
                    Only to find
           It was an acre-long park and I walked all the way

And then seeing the tranquil pond in front, 
         Think of a long cool refreshing dip.
And then the hope that on the other side of that pond 
         Will be green grass and trees
                   A meadow to enjoy
         A farm with a view.

But then I walk nearer
         Only to find its a small puddle
                reflected from far to look like a pond.
         A mirage.

All it takes now to cross a chasm
           Is to walk over a puddle
A small splash
           Not even that.

Like a space-time warp
          Moving from One World
                      to the Next
          In one small step.

The flowers on the other side already
        look old
But the trees look real
       They are still far
One splash away.

To walk forth is the
       Only way now
To inspect the flowers
      And the trees
To see if there is a farm
     where there may be some rest
                if not a pond

Is it a mirage too?

Not a back glance
      Not a moments hesitation
The farm may be old
      The flowers fake
But its not tall dry weeds
      At least its green.

Today I ended the last day in the third organization of my career. Though its been two and a half years here, it is as if the chord was cut before it formed. I feel not a thing, I leave behind no memories - perhaps some sad ones. No associations I will treasure, no work I will treasure - perhaps the little I show on my CV. And day after tomorrow I will join my next organization. Today was D-day and it is already D-1 day. The rest, the vacation I thought I would get is not there. There is no time.
How will my next assignment go? I don't know. I'm jaded, yet I'm expectant. I have no hopes yet I hope. Nothing is perfect, but wouldn't it be great if it is? But I'm realistic.
Perhaps the first job is unique in that respect - there are no hopes or aspirations. No standards to improve or deteriorate.

For the moment I will open a bottle of wine, celebrate an end and a new beginning, all at once. And savour the moment.
Tags: bombay, contemplating, daily. living, event, general, memory, poem, thoughts, work

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