Durga Puja

It is the season of kash flowers,And smoky dusks.Of sharp silhouetted clouds,On a shifting skyscapeWith the hint of an approaching winter.But the festivities are on hold,Oh Mother, once again your advent is muted,The air doth not reverberate with conch sounds,Or the musical trill of the womenfolk. Another year we put on hold,While you, Oh Mother