For him, Diwali may not be as happy an occasion, as it is for us. Wrote this poem while I was returning from home after celebrating Diwali there.Here it goes.....
It's her habit now,
The Goddess forgets our colony,
our conditions, our hearths,
our births and our agony.
One feet in the drain,
the other on the less-visited road,
I watch the train,
as it jostles through our slums on its troll.
The uplift-ers came yesterday,
to click some photographs, and
show-off to the world.
They, all, take credits and
take our hopes,
their festival of lights today,
daily does the light of our lantern elope.
I passed through the market,
well-lit, the fervor well-knit,
happy to see the "happiness",
forgetting the grief I've got to tell you,
the larks will brighten the skies,
bring smiles on your faces,
and silence our usual cries.
I hear your laughter across the streets,
colors, crackers, lights all there they meet,
then here's our road, and not the street,
colorless, ominous, dark, no life, no treat.
You'll visit each other, gifting the gifts,
to the undeserved, to the already flourishing,
the gifts that could have given us the reason to smiles.
You enjoy all night long,
the Goddess visits your homes all night long,
the brumal floor wrecks me all night long.
Tomorrow I set out, the usual schedule,
to pick up rags, no study, no school,
to walk your streets,
laden with crackers and joys of last night,
the night that makes your life bright,
but, for me, it's the usual night.
