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◾ Heart Cries in A Dilapidated 'Durga Pujo'◾

Recently we have celebrated Navaratri & Durga Puja in different parts of India. Welcoming 'Maa' has always been a very heart-warming part of us, bengalis. But this year, "Durga Pujo" was completely different in the scenario of Covid-19. So, thought of jotting down my feelings through a poem. Please give it a read and share your feedbacks.❤🙏

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◾ Heart Cries in A Dilapidated 'Durga Pujo'◾


Emotions are extended upto being grandeur,

Abbreviations have no place in my heart.

Maa Durga appears completely different this year,

A little worried, a little pale & dimmed

As Corona has swiped away lives like a tornado.

Her eyes carry the pain of throttled desires for a daily wager,

She let her tears down for those who lost the access of food, shelter & basic amenities.

Maa durga has drastically been changed,

The blank roads in puja days speak volumes,

The home which many found in the brightening lights of puja pandals

Are entirely emancipated from their very ground.

People are jeopardized for the way fear has grabbed the core of their souls.

Food stalls, a disheartening scenario of emptiness,

Blank chairs in pandal missing the trendy addas of youth

& Maa whispering the words of healing, the words of love, the words of resilience,

the words of compassion & the words of betterment.

My mouth craves for the scrumptious 'Phuchka' s and flavoursome cushions.

Maa, draped in red saree and her elegant three-eyed sculpture still articulate the verses of triumphant tomorrow.

Corona, the malignant cancerous enemy, disguised as the 'Asura' of the society

Squeezing the entire mankind

& reproducing the seeds of ominous demons sluggishly.

Tomorrow knows no certainty,

Whether we live or we get blurred away Like a hand slipping the last particles of sand in a voidy seashore.

A valiant heart has never learnt to be defeated,

To be lost in the crowd of poisoned waste,

& to be carried away with the turmoil of exertion.

An ironic situation we are living in,

Finding the rejuvenation in the aromatic scent of 'Shiuli' flower,

Cramming our feelings in the evergreen laughters of Catkins, playing 'hide & seek' by the familiar roadside.

I wonder if Rabindranath has ever imagined the divinity of Durga in this very way!

A virus, tinier than a dust particle transformed the emotions with utmost extremity.

Bengalis & Bangla would never forget this very new 'Durga Pujo',

A sad & sarcastic finishing touch,

A never-ending desire of welcoming 'Maa' in the same old manner just the way a old school romantic lover offers a rose to his poetic beloved

& a dramatic craze of nothingness.

Still the phenomena of "Rupang Dehi, Jayam Dehi, Yasho Dehi, Disho Jahi" would never fade away,

And come back everytime with the hopes of reincarnation,

A reincarnation of heart's fulfillment, exhilaration & healthy environment.

Let's pray as the 'sindoor' of 'Dashami'

Flies away everywhere to nurse the dilapidated nature

& wholesome love blossoms as fresh 'Shiuli's for the next infinite years.


~ ©️storytellersuchismita


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