BYOT

 

You know someday you'll have to go without

a certain backyard, a tree. Or a person.

Going on without is what it's mostly about. 

Deep in your bones, your heart, not a shred of doubt.

You too will have to step out from this garden -

you know someday you'll have to go without.

Life's mostly lived under some passing cloud,

you'll want to run but there's just no option.

Going on without is what it's mostly about.

The loneliest place's hidden in the crowds

millions strong around the world and nation.

You know someday you'll have to go without.

You cannot find relief, inside or out -

you can't breathe even when the window's open.

Going on without is what it's mostly about.

You can't fathom how it's ending, so throughout

you startle easy, but still get the job done.

You know someday you'll have to go without,

going on without is what it's mostly about.

BYOT is not 'bring your own tipple,' btw. It's 'bring your own title' because I am terrible at them, the title is the hardest part of a poem for me. I couldn't come up with a single word for this one. Leave me your suggestions in the comments please.

I'm on a megabinge of nonstop villanelles. This one was inspired by a contemporary Indian  historian I follow - he posted about his father's passing and wrote that post-bereavement his mother is his remaining connect to his childhood, but that thought is fraught with the knowledge that he will lose the comfort of her presence too someday. That loss is of course the most wrenching of all, but life's generally peppered with losses - from the smallest to the humongous and well, taking it into one's stride and carrying on. 

We had yet another untimely family bereavement last month. My families have changed drastically in the last three years. In my blood-family, there are now only a handful of people left who've known me as a child. In many gatherings I've become the eldest generation present. It takes some getting used to, but that can be done. What is impossibly difficult is the untimely passing of someone. It is crippling to have to see young people in their 30s have to deal with parental bereavement.

Someone recently left a  comment on a blog I visit, which essentially said blogging is an escape from reality. They come to blogs to have their mood lightened and not have problems present or past thrown at them. It made me think about what I should post here, if I should compartmentalise better. Poetry is after all fiction, I don't necessarily have to post something dark here just because my offline life has been rather sombre of late. I could easily dig up something from 5 years ago when things were slightly lighter and easy-breezy. That conflicts with my write-it-as-it-comes thumb-rule though, and it felt a bit dishonest somehow? - so in the end I didn't. 

Life's a bit messy right now and that will continue in the foreseeable future. Whatever shape and colour it is - dark, uncertain, hard to navigate...I'm still grateful, still celebrating the mess.  Hoping your week is a celebration, and also a bit tidier. Have a wonderful one.