Hello everyone, this is my first attempt at posting something on this platform. Hope you guys like it.
Never have I written a poem or a story, but would love to share memories of this colourful festival Holi.
Brought up in a joint family, pre holi celebrations a week before was mandatory.
Every morning was a different face, with coloured moustaches, colgate beards I am sure you too can relate.
Building compounds and terraces so huge,
we could throw so many balloons and still find refuge.
Buckets of water balloons, colour, paint and mud,
no one in the neighborhood would remain a stud.
Everyone one waited with bated breath to have a target soaked and drenched.
Pichkaris were never about shape and colour.
Everyone just waited to splash some water.
Those coloured faces, smell of gulal,
the fear of pakka colours and scrubbing of kerosene at last.
Piping hot jalebis, bhajiyas, dance and song,
Holi was never complete without Thandai and bhaang.