The Bridge

I have learnt that some definitions need to be redefined.  They may have to be done for many reasons, sometimes, because of you grow out of something, sometimes, because your life turns a new leaf , and sometimes, simply because a changed definition is vital for survival. A change of perspective. Like looking over the water while atop a bridge. The same water, the same bridge, and the same city. But the place you look at it from, your view changes. And that is what we need sometimes, a different spot over the bridge. I am standing in a new place over the bridge now, a place from where I can also see the place where I stood last. When I had a childlike faith and an unfettered urge to swim in the waters I knew I would drown in. That place was then, and this place is now. I would not say one is better than the other, because it is because of one that I am in another.

There is wind in my hair today as I sit by the shore, and the few layers that cover me still make me shiver a little. I’m waiting for someone in a bench in the park but it is a good wait I know, because I have a smile on my face as the sun kisses my soul. With the wind slapping against my face, I try to stare out in the open at the waters ahead and realize how free I feel. And the square, the city by the bay and the little birds, may carry with them some semblance of the old, but I let it fall away like autumn leaves.




Comments

Rahul Bhatia said…
A poetic rendition befitting the Bay:)
A grain of sand said…
That was the intent. Thank you!

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