Holi

A celebration in four letters, fêted by billions

In a million ways, colour abounds

Quicker out of packets than the beat;

For once the ground is not just red.

 

Spring, harbinger of colour, blooms and with open arms

Its flowers flutter, mingling with new tints

Of joy: this time mud and stone vivider

Than watery mirrors at sunset.

 

Early, before elders awake, small hands don

Faded rags that could do with some colour,

Nimble fingers puffing little plastic bags

With cold water to explode on unsuspecting heads.

 

Often, time pushes traditions awry, bending originality like water through light.

But though the Holy never garden hoses decreed,

For ages until and hence, Holi differences cloaked,

Hugs exchanged, snacks abound, gulaal applied, balloons burst without reserve

For at least a day.

 

 

The photo is taken from Arnaav Bhavanani’s album ‘metro.pol : nyc’. https://artxqc.com/2016/11/28/metro-pol-nyc/

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