Thu, 10/25/2018 - 12:54 -- ngopes

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



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