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/