Let me register my feelings of as the new season dawns – spring is the fountain of love for thirsty winter. Like summer I can be hot; Like winter I can be cold; Like spring I can be warm; Like autumn I can be cool; Like the four seasons, I can change.
By Nazarul Islam
Can spring be far behind? If winter comes can spring be far behind. The old order changeth, giving place to new. After all tomorrow is another day.
Thus proclaimed the poets in the past have been giving hope to future.
Covid-19, the deadly virus has destroyed the world as we knew it leaving behind fear and uncertainty across humanity. Loss of home and livelihood for the poor, overall loss of lives because of the pandemic have turned life topsy turvy, for some beyond recovery.
The middle class, ever the backbone of any society has lost its verve for life, missing their celebrations of family reunions, festivals, resulting in stories of depression and mental stress as a result of loneliness with the curbs and protocols cutting into their resilient zest for life.
Many old habits like visiting friends, shopping for the pleasure of it, visiting movies have been banned and instead, social distancing, stay at home, have come to replace them. When the pandemic was at its worst, there was loss of the more vulnerable population and survival of the fittest seemed to be the scary writing on the wall. It was reported that in many countries the seniors succumbed to the virus because of age-related issues.
If winter comes can spring be far behind? The earth despite the pandemic renews itself with new life, the sky goes from dark to cerulean blue, the birds and butterflies fill the air, new red leaves burst on trees and the old sap zings forth. Smitten, perhaps with spring fever one leader, opined the other day that a new world order is emerging, giving hope to the pandemic stricken earth.
A young protégé of mine emailed me urging me to shake off the blues and to embrace the new normal, to become creative and productive, enriched by the churning of the old order. “Being old is not to put yourself on a shelf, Sir….she tries to inspire me via internet.
Don’t forget the poet’s words, ‘Grow old along with me, the best is yet to be; the last of life for which the first was made.’ Picasso Sophocles, Shaw—all of them produced their best work when they were ninety, the innocent points out.
True, my dear girl, the pandemic has been a real churner, an extraordinary game changer. But all that I am able to produce is this piece which you are reading now.
Let me register my feelings of as the new season dawns – spring is the fountain of love for thirsty winter.
Like summer I can be hot.
Like winter I can be cold.
Like spring I can be warm
Like autumn I can be cool.
Like the four seasons, I can change.
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