This, I say, is a confession
Or, a declaration
To myself, and to you, my reader
I am slowly turning into nothing:
No thoughts, no provocations, no urges
And no stimulation;
Just go on doing things that matter ---
Or maybe they don’t!
But I’m keen on finishing things that start
All things that started must finish at some point
And the finishing line will push itself onward,
It’d want to converge someday
Into eternity, into madness
Into a sublime territory of coloured nothingness
Then, at the turn of midnight or midday
Or at dusk, or at dawn
Or at some other unnamed unnoticed casual hour of the day
The chaos will find itself contained in supreme calmness.
