Deepavali

They call it the festival of lights,

A celebration of victory over evil, what a delight!

To be ruled by the devil is an irony and our plight,

Time for the rich to wear new clothes and burn money,

Hungry in torn clothes, the poor think, it’s not so funny,

The smoke and the sound polluting the big arena,

People unconscious, in spite of being affected by the Corona,

The mindless glee, can be seen on their faces,

When their light took away, little life without traces,

This age-old practice is a sign of madness,

Progressing into the future sure is a sadness,

With the inevitable change, the evil remains constant,

Hypocrites raise their voice, but, at every other instant,

Helpless and confused, are a conscious few,

Searching for peace, when there is a curfew.