Twenty years from now I’ll be thirty-nine. That does make it hard - to realize that I won’t be as young and lively as I am now. That I won’t have the same ideas, or even feel the same wind, see the same Sun, breathe the same air. Isn’t it all so fragile? This very moment and, to be honest, it does scare me.
Often I find myself being focused on making this moment perfect, that before I know it, the moment is gone and one more of those infinite seconds in the grasp of time is handed down to me, to make it truly my own.
People, roads, cars, trains, buses, books, dust… and a lot more.
It’s odd, but I have to remind myself that I breathe to live. Now that I think about it. I have lost so many of my breaths without cherishing them. So many of them lost in regret, in grief, in loneliness, in pain and at times even joy.
When I look at the trees and the leaves that hang from their skinny branches, I notice their existence. They might have been here for a long time. How short is our life? Countless lives lost in war, in politics, in trying to get better than the person next to us.
I don’t know for what reason I am here. I am trying to find out, but all the hints indicate to me that perhaps there is no reason. I am just here. This is all I have - my hands, my fingers, my eyes, my laughter, my tears, the anger that brims in me, my very own loneliness. And every day small bits and pieces become a part of me.
Right now, I am growing. Maybe not with happiness or hope or even joy, but I am growing.
And at this very moment the sky has begun to turn pale with an odd star and the moon, still in my vision, will soon become many of my yesterdays…
And I’ll never find them again,
Those breaths with which,
Once I too used to play.
So let me count them for now,
And notice them quietly,
In my college, in my room,
Where they’ll stay.
Photography By: Utkarsh Sinha