Sunday, 13 September 2020

Not a reset

 

Today I remembered the bugle’s plaintive notes

somewhere near the bungalow, from across the road

every day at sunset. Some high official lived close -

his flags were raised and lowered as the bugle played.

It calms things down a bit to get into childhood,

to thumb old music - of bagpipes and Irish flutes,

this time demands a retreat into those tunes and books,

those long ago textures when she moored my decades.

 


Verses the world over, the texts have the same sting

all that’s born must die, there’s no point in suffering -

as if it’s an option, as if grief’s a reset.

There’s no preparation, no going out of mind,

no way to carry forward or leave it behind,

no knowing if memories will help or how to forget.







8 comments:

  1. Hugs.
    Grief breaks us. And remakes us. In ways we could not imagine.

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    Replies
    1. Hugs back. The remaking is resource intensive and painful.

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  2. Hari OM
    It's like a time bomb, grief. One can be going along just fine. Then... sending Love. YAM xx

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  3. But the memories are important if that's all you have...

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    Replies
    1. Are they? The mind has a trick of wiping off the painful ones...

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  4. I agree with Alex. Music can conjure, a meal can invoke, anything and everything is around to remind. It's what you make or take from it. Smile,cry. No wrong response.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Yes, I'm with you on that - no wrong response.

      Delete