Festival Of My Soul

By Avani Tiwari

Door to my soul, saw ajar,

The jugnus shackled, oh! that black jar.

Fragments I see scattered afar,

Of me breathing, bound to scars.

The image of me, it flickers,

As the fog of sorrow grows thicker.

The soul’s looking for,

Oh, for what?

They bicker.

Only a veil, it’s the smile’s slicker.

The firecrackers left ablaze,

While I meet my horrors in a daze.

Oh, I can, I can see the sparkles fly,

And see my horrors steaming from my eye.

Oh, I can, I can see the kids dance,

Hear laughter’s cheer, a merry trance.

Yet echoes of doubts ring just as clear,

The flame of diyas, so bright, so near,

But the moth, lost, stands blind with fear.

Need I be thy plight?

Or should thy bid me, to light.

The petal confuses, the fall as flight,

Still fooling itself with borrowed might.

Ah, what a plight, they say.

Prayers I speak, hidden under the quilt,

Laden my bed, thorny as guilt.

Oh, I can, I can see the shimmer of joy like gilt,

And in the divine gaze, I sense the jilt,

I see it’s me, sabotaging my dreams with a hilt.

Dreams I built,

Dreams I tugged under the quilt.

Yet shadows linger, holding tight the spilt.

Diwali, a festive occasion of joy for others, is totally different for her . While others rejoice with light, fireworks, and laughter, she is caught in her

own grief. The jugnus (fireflies), which ought to symbolize hope, are fettered, as are her feelings. The diyas are aglow, but rather than warmth,

they symbolize what is missing to her. She senses the joy around her but cannot attain it—like a moth that freezes in front of the fire. She cowers

under her blanket, murmuring prayers, weighed down with remorse and sorrow. Even in the heavenly light, she senses desolation, as though her

fantasies are being wasted by her own thoughts. Despite how much she wishes to experience the happiness of Diwali, the darkness of suspicion

and isolation prevents her. Rather than a festival, Diwali widens the gap between her and the rest of the world.

By Avani Tiwari