“It’s That Time”

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Source: Google images

It’s that time of the year again,
When summer says that it is tired and goes for a vacation,
It’s that time,
When you see miles
With naked eyes,
When the pen doesn’t stop
Filling the pages.
It’s that time,
When people carry Ta’ziehs,
And run barefoot
And shirtless,
Mourning for the two brothers,
Condemning their battle.
It’s that time,
When hordes of people send blessings to the dead,
When extravagant
And precious idols are immersed in the rivers,
Wasting money,
Polluting rivers,
Abiding by religions;
Oh what a shame,
What a shame.
It’s that time,
When the banks of the holy river
Are crowded,
It’s that time,
When you see yourself
In everyone around,
And yet, feel lonely in a crowd,
You question your existence,
You question the happening,
You question faith.
It’s that time,
When writers become authors,
And philosophers become poets,
When season changes.
It’s that time,
When a child asks for a balloon,
And the poor father doesn’t have money to pay,
To give the little soul,
Just a balloon,
And the lightness of the balloon,
It’s that time,
When the balloon seller still stands there,
In front of the child,
Hoping for just one more sale to feed his hungry,
Sick and malnourished child
Back at home.
Yes, it’s that time.
It’s that time when you’re deep in thoughts, well awake,
But still fail to admire the bokeh,
Formed by the lights still hanging
For some more days,
It’s the time,
When you see known faces,
Smeared with vermillion
Dancing to the beats of dhaak.
It’s the time,
When you actually visualize all these and realise,
You are exactly where you need to be.
The world is revolving around,
Going away from the Sun,
Going away from fluorescence,
And the enigmatic incandescence.
It is that time of the year again,
When a sheath of half-lies,
Veils the actuality.

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