Towards evening, I run a strand of tinsel across my veranda
its loose ends rustling in the wind.
My mother decorates the main door with marigold
Its smell wafting all through the house.
She stows a row of diyas on the sill
smelling of silty clay and of sunflower oil.
In the garden, she lights the sky lantern
tie to a bamboo pole, as tall as my home,
Its glow lighting up the night sky.
And she worships Goddess Laxmi for
wealth and welfare for the whole family.
As the night grows
the strip of tinsel scintillates my veranda
flickering and changing its colors.
And the festival rockets pop and flash in the sky
like glowing orbs of light.
Suddenly, there is a sheer silence, then I hear
deusi-bhailo. It makes me want to go there
but I can’t. My eyes narrow as I peek
through the opening of my curtain outside.
And the fête continuous to resonate late into the night