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Advent
New year, a sign post
along a linear journey
in between point A to almost
there: a span unfathomable.
Advent—reads the sign post
The first candle is lit
on the Advent Wreath; a faithful boast
to the mystery of a Saviour's coming
again, yet again; in thanksgiving a toast.
First Sunday in Advent—
a new—year sign post
Five Point Something
I sit, in front of the TV
in my house
and then, suddenly
there is a rattling, everything's shaking;
I freeze! in front of the TV;
my voice, my body, my brain
is numbed into a surreal levy
of the earth's sway.
October's goodbye, sure is scary;
a "five point something", on the Richter Scale.
I take a slow, deep, breath, in front of the TV.
Another Divali Night
Smell of ghee, and crackles
of a tiny flame
from a deya, cradled in the notch
of the split bamboo rod. Tensile frames,
bend to meet and match, the artistic minds
of devotees. Offered up; the crackles of a tiny flame,
like leaping hearts in glee
after penance and fast, now free of blame
before Mother Lakhsmi;
to cycle anew, into another year-frame
of mercy. Step by step, the journey continues
until; another Divali night; and the crackles of a tiny flame.
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