Sunday, November 11, 2007

The festival

The air smells divine,
Fragrant agarbatthis,
Loud crackers,
The cheer in the neighbourhood,
The banging of drums,
The dance of festive joy.
Devotees rejoice.
Through the small lanes,
the crowd spreads .
The sudden smell of burnt skin,
Remains of black charred rubber
The clanging of falling pots
The cries, the shrieks
Drums beat louder
The voice drowns,
Vows written in red ink.
The dance of death.
The diety looks on
Numb, Unmoving, Silent.

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