Pulse staccato, steel.
some half-forgotten trait.
You rush to the door.
Bewitched. Stand still. Your blood sings.
They’re taking the idols for immersion
With due ceremony. Colors.
Deserting you like this to the waters? As the skies thunder? From dust to dust?
The drumbeats fade.
I can never do that. Never.
(Y'day was Visarjan, the last day of the Ganpati festival when the idols are taken to the sea and immersed)