Christmas Season - A Passionate Deja Vu Poem by Bernedita Rosinha Pinto

Christmas Season - A Passionate Deja Vu



Through the Christmas seasons passed life,
many of us are now dead and gone
one of me is still here to tell the truth,
that as each one of us sat by the Christmas tree
we saw the merriment blast and last vividly
just like a vibrant honeycomb with bees hovering around it
with zest and quest of doing their duties enthusiastically.

Christmas always brought our families together,
as children kept making cribs and stars,
elders kept persisting divinity and devotion
asking everyone to go and attend the midnight mass
wearing new clothes, new shoes and socks.

As menfolk wore old suits and old ties over their new shirts,
young girls powdered their faces and put make up
just to keep up their fresh looks to attract young boys
with a hope of getting sincere lovers
or with a dream of getting marriage proposals.

And just as families and friends kept visiting our Xmas home
which was so full of love, unity and celebration,
each one of us would sit by the dinner table
brushing shoulders against each other
while sharing fun and laughter,
eating duck roast and caramel puddings.

And as the midnight came to its chiming,
everyone was drunk with just two chalices of red wine
or two glasses full of beer;
and as those stars which were not real kept shining
our children joined carol singers
who walked through the whole neighborhood.

Everyone was so full of glee as ours was the only house
which had a huge lighted Xmas tree in our vicinity
and the best Xmas decor for all those years
that praises and appreciation made our kids repeat
making the Xmas crib and Xmas tree better each year.

Ours was also the only house where Xmas sweets
were prepared by those who were good at making them
as our grandmothers would insist that the old acquaintances
should come and prepare sweets and bake many cakes
and they were paid an extra penny for their precise expertise.

Cooks were also invited to prepare lunch and dinner
all thro' the season so that food was relished with gusto;
this rhythm of enjoyment kept repeating year after year
all thro' the Christmas seasons that the festivity stretched
for a fortnight with music, dance and serenades.

Our uncles and aunts, our cousins and friends
were always there at our dinner table till midnight,
with parties galore, drinking and eating, non-stop music,
singing carols in between, sharing tales and family gossip
telling each other how much they longed for money
how hard each one worked for better prosperity.

Yet no one went hungry to bed or felt incomplete
except that everyone wanted to get more intoxicated
but no one encouraged other to get over-drunk:
not that money was the constraint but ethics was the rule.

Finally passed those many years of life repeating the same show:
the same Christmas came and the same Christmas went away;
but with those years passed away brothers, uncles, aunts,
keeping back an agony inside me
and vacant seats besides me at our dinner table.

And as candlelight sparks those delightful memories
of times shared looking at each other's zest,
now sits my heart all so alone and the same heart cries aloud
but my eardrums shut themselves not wanting
to hear my own shrieking voice which says -
where are you both my beloved brothers?

And there are no tears in my eyes as tears drown inwardly
and make me feel so lonely as today there is so much
to laugh about, to share, to eat and to rejoice,
but they are all gone leaving in my heart a gorgeous pain
which shall never cease until I myself perish.

There are children around me now
who want to hear of and know about our family tree:
they keep asking me who is this uncle, who was that aunt
as they look at the pictures
and I show them the album of our past togetherness.

I ask them to sing merry Christmas songs
to distract their attention while my own heart
silently weeps for those who are not with me;
and in the cellar are so many wines to get over-drunk
that it reminds me of the restrictions and constraints
we had from our mother who would tell us never to over-indulge.

Today my mother who is in her eighties, sits alone
unable to control the sadness she herself senses and feels
while I myself am unable to control what my anguish
does to my own painful heart
as memories of love cannot revert the circumstances of life...

where in our childhood as little children we would sit
and sing carols aloud like schoolkids,
it felt like it was true Christmas which I now so much miss
which I now so much long to share with those I loved
but I will never get them back again to sit with me
by the Xmas tree and sing aloud - "Joy to the world".....
as my joy has lost its voice and vigour.

Christmas Season - A Passionate Deja Vu
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Kostas Lagos 28 December 2019

Excellent poem Bernedita!

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Bernedita Rosinha 29 December 2019

Thank you dear, , you are always so quick to appreciate. The loss of loved ones is hard to bear and the pain is difficult to overcome. Thanks, anyway. You have a great X' mas season!

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