Water-proof lamps line
The next balcony wall
They glow under the rain
In our house the earthen
Flames exclaim at us for
Not minding death and
Choosing to light them.
In the hillock near my
Native town the festival
Has lit a political fire after
Pyromaniacs descended
Upon it when they came
Looking for new places
To torch with their hatred
The black sun is brighter
When saffron fires spew darkness
It still burns showing the way
Past primitive fears to a new day.
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