Nostalgia

Through the fabric of time

I often peek into memories

Scented by marigold

Colored by the vivid geru

Maroon like Lakshmi's footprints

When she walks silently

As my mother lights her diya

Chants her name

Almost like a fever dream.

Her fervent breath syncs with the taal of her words,

And in those moments

My mother shines brighter than the moonless night.

The hushed golden October

Strangled by the warmth of diyas

Mimics the divine golden glittering goddess

Followed by ghouls hiding in plain sight.

I pray and pray and pray

To hear her anklets tinkle

As she roams around the house

Printing every nook

With the velvety red of her Alta.

Instead I am met

By the screaming skies

Drowned in glimmering tears all too bright.

My father's arms follow

As I hide from the loud clamoring clouds in the sky

Muffled by his jacket and lullabies

In that moment, he becomes all that I know of life.

The aipan covered courtyard no longer exists

And the sky has now stopped crying its big bright tears,

The taal has slowed down,

And the firm grip is no longer there.

What is nostalgia if not the shadow of a life once lived

And shadows often thrive where it is bright,

So it lingers a bit longer,

The stinging nostalgia

Every time it is Diwali

A deceiving reminder

Of the weight of time