It is the time of the year,
When,
Excitement surfaces from dusty boxes,
Nostalgia unwraps from the crinkled papers,
Ascending clicks of fibre kick off the Navratri celebrations.

It is the time of the year,
When,
As the sun kisses goodbye,
The aroma of sundals paint the air with salivating expectations,
We wait with welcoming smiles across our faces,
To entertain the day’s posse,
A fully crammed house longs for more guests,
Streets resonate with juicy gossips and hearty laughter,
Eyes and lights compete fiercely to outshine each other,

It is the time of the year,
When,
Forgotten artforms rev to life,
As amateurs and experts flood the space alike,
With legends, history and tales of Devi.

The world springs to life,
For just nine days,
Yet,
It leaves trails of happiness,
Forever.

--

--