Sunday, 18 July 2021

Imperfect

 




Practice does not make all things perfect –

grief; loss; and leave taking, for instance;

the emptying of rooms till nothing’s left.

A thousand times is as fraught as once.

 

Every grief has a unique thumbprint

like a sonnet’s singular context –

this verse will skill you, or so you think.

But this one’s no practice for the next.

 

There’s no template for it you can use,

no guidelines to build for reference –

keep at it but don’t you expect fruits,

and don’t count on past experience.

 

Practice cannot make perfect all things –

isolation; age; lonely evenings.




The last countdown has begun. Upsticks time, this time for good. Moving back to India now after twenty five years in the MENA, these are my last few days in Bahrain. Not sure if I'll be able to post next week - if something gets written, I will. (I do so dislike offline life interference in my online spaces :) But if not, my next post will be from Cal. See you soon. Till then, stay well. Happy summer/winter!







6 comments:

  1. Hari OM
    Safest of trips to you Nila - and please, be safe when landed... looking forward to whenever you refind this space! YAM xx

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  2. Echoing Yam.
    And aching with the truth of your sonnet.

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  3. That last line...
    Have a safe trip.

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  4. This poem really speaks to me. Thank you for it. Safe travels and happy landings!

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  5. With thoughts Nila - for this challenging transition ... stay safe and all the best when you get back to Calcutta ... Hilary

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  6. There is no practicing for death and loss.

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