Perfect Endings...

Kal rah pe chalte chalte, ek udte patey se poocha maine

Har jhokein se tu bhidta hai, pag pe chalte har prani ke pairon ki maar tu sehta hai

Kisi se kuch na kehta hai

Tu kyun chup chup rehta hai

Woh bola mujhse, jhokon ka kaam to hai behna woh teri taap bhujatein hai

Pairon ka kaam to hai badna, ye tujhko aagey le jaatein hai

Hai shor bahut iss duniya main jis shor ka koi aant nahin

Main shor macha kar aur yahan kis parinaam ko paunga

Main to chota sa pata hoon kal fir nit naya khil aaunga

Tu mujhko pag pe dekh dukhi na ho, main to paed ki meeti yaadon mein jeeta hoon

Isliye kissi se kuch na kehta hoon

Isliye chup chup main rehta hoon

The final page of every chapter, the final chapter of every book, most probably for a lot of people out there the most important aspect of life- closure, an overused and overvalued term.

We all work very hard to get closure, to find a way to attain that perfect ending to things but is it ever possible. Is there a perfect ending to anything? I think not. Things end and then we start over, trying to erase the memories of our past, trying to find meaning in what we did and why we lost, like a pin ball hitting going back and forth, coming to one conclusion after another till we find out that chances, the options, are over… with open issues and no closure.

But closure is so important, I push myself to write good last lines, for my poems, for everything else I write, because it gives meaning to everything I write. Those final lines define what my story is about but then again that is only an end because I want to end it and I think in there lies the answer. 

You can almost never find closure or you can find it in you to move on, to let go, to find the perfect ending. 

What though the radiance which was once so bright
Be not forever taken from my sight,
Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower;
Grief not, rather find,
Strength in what remains behind,
In the primal sympathy
Which having been must ever be,
In the soothing thoughts that spring
Out of Human suffering,
In the faith that looks through death
In years that bring philophic mind.

William Wordsworth