seasons

the footfalls have diminished,

the hustle-bustle has died,

the festive lights flicker

just for us and no one else,

since we've been dusted

and brought out of the wearhouse.

standing here, we hear the chatter,

we listen, we talk amongst ourselves,

when no one is watching.

or, perhaps, we do, but none have

the time to take notice.

the bargains, the grumble of

spouses, the children's wail,

the old stock refreshed,

hidden deals,

whiff from tea cups, smoke,

dust and, the drizzle from rains.

shutters rolling up and down.

light switches on and off.

power backup’s drone.

brass bells chiming at dawn.

the celebrations start and end,

they have their seasons.

we have our seasons too,

to be assembled to be dis7mantled.

a celebration, either way.

-amit charles

Image courtesy: Kartik Praija

(https://x.com/kartikparija )