Monday, November 4

mogra

It would have been a little incomplete, without a few words here. Static blue lights on a quiet blue terrace. Modi Towers is hidden in haze. So is rest of Nehru Place. The crackling is sparse, distant and mellow. China is blinking through LEDs. My lamps are dry, but the marigold and its dispersed petals will wait until sunrise. There is no wind and the trees are sinfully still. The Jamaican rum has run its course, back home there'll be a half bottle of white wine. Fireworks still over my head, and the hustle of flower pots, still within my ears. Cool air kisses my nostrils with gunpowder in every breath. I can hear the aircrafts now, perhaps the night has really gone cold. My terrace is dark, lit up, but still. I am soaking it all in. It's Diwali, in its most special hour. When my heart is full and I am happy. Love, to everyone who reads. More to those who still write. Wishing you loads of joy and peace. May you see the shining lights in the darkest of nights within.