The flowers don't bloom anymore,
The way they would,
The guava tree gave up before you did,
She didn't have the strength to live
Without the hand that cared,
The manuscripts don't spring into life,
Each morning,
The way they would.
None to look forward to.
Diwali nights were never about crackers,
Your words ring fresh in my ears,
The memories still rife,
The sugar candies,
The smile, and the colorful animal shapes,
The decking up with oil-lit diyas,
The running to the terrace
To light those that were blown out by breeze,
The sweets that Bou prepared for the pujas,
The prayers that you prepared us for,
Prayers for the departed, your father,
And his,
Fading into the noise,
And the smells of rubble and smoke.
This Diwali would be different,
None to bring the sugar candies home,
From watching us pace to shield the diyas,
And the flickering flame,
You've switched sides,
Become one of them.
This puja would be different,
Who'll remind the verses?
You've switched sides, Bapa
To be with your father,
And his.
© Sashikant Mohanty
