Perhaps departing is an art-
sheepishly incorrigible and confrontational
for there will always be
a relationship becoming inexplicably sour
a project becoming toilsomely barren
a job becoming unapologetically gruelling
a house becoming undesirably small
a city becoming obliviously repulsive
a body becoming inevitably unresponsive


So much so,
that there won’t be any plausible escape,
but a departure-inopportune and abrupt
mindless and brutal-amidst
floating disappointments and uncertainties
quashing all hopes and desires
associations and promises
causing the mind to languish
in inane decisions and fiery epilogues


But the art of departing isn’t just an art,
rather an intimate conversation with the self-
necessitating a hiatus from the context
The palette is a discernible combination of
an astute reflection and tender words,
followed by a thoughtful action with a
tinge of patience and empathy


As much as it is unnatural and
de rigueur for absolution, the whole of
art of departing however lies in closing-
scars and wounds, doors and conversations
files and work, chapters and phases-
and sometimes weaving brokenness
of promises and possibilities


And no matter how persistent the pursuit is,
yet, there is sometimes no
consolation in the art of departing,
even in the time


2 thoughts on “The Art of Departing

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