Sooner or later, the night descends,
silence blankets all in its embrace,
after Diwalis, joy’s ephemeral trends,
replaced by a stillness, a vacant space.
The city, once drunk on laughter’s thrill,
now soaked in sorrow, a mournful sight,
candles instead of diyas, hearts stand still,
rangolis left untouched, in the dimming light.
Some collect the remnants of the past night,
poverty knows no festivity’s call,
houses where phones won’t again alight,
the echo of a voice that took its fall.
As your flight ascends, my heart descends,
distance, the barrier we struggle to evade,
like the beggar’s warning, a message he sends,
of a spot where someone’s life did fade.
His pride in sharing this tale anew,
his voice, a song as vast as your absence,
your eyes wearied of guests, it’s true,
like the train sounds, a departure’s essence.
The end of the year draws near,
as everything lost drifts further away,
your flight has long landed, my dear,
I’m still navigating the airport’s array.
Smiles on the streets will fade like smoke,
busy lives, like fireworks, come and go,
the wait for another year, life’s yoke,
almost as long as my longing’s tow.
I once asked the beggar, pondering why,
“If everyone dies here, why do you remain?”
He smiled, gazing at the sky,
“In hope, one Diwali, I’ll leave this plane,
While someone else’s home stays alight,
with the glow of love, forever bright.”
