Cotton candy clouds, beats of dhak, smell of shiuli
announce Her presence, a chimera of happiness floats
like gossamer over an illuminated city, masking
dark crevasses crawling with poverty, misogyny, hatred.
Magnificent marquees decked in neon brilliance
are packed like sardine cans at 2 am, thin lines
between carnival and worship smudged like kohl
in the eyes of young ladies on their first nocturnal trip.
Four days of festivities are stretched every year, unhappy
mortals desperately trying to grab onto happy moments
that will vanish with Her departure, a desperate clamour
to satiate the senses before monotony reclaims the earth.
Every year we give birth to our Mother, knowing fully well
she will soon drown to mortal death –
undeterred, we celebrate her time among us and get ready
to wait again for her resurrection, our annual nirvana.
Photos from the Internet
#DurgaPujaSpecial #DurgaPuja #Festivity #Mother #Nirvana #Poem #DifferentTruths
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