Holi has behind it legend great
Among festivals we rever and treat
With reverence in mind festive
All round people look restive
Hiranakashap was a haughty king
Stressed masses for praises always to sing
He was brute but never mute
Prahladha was his son always cute
There was havoc wrought all round
No compromise no mental sound
Over brimmed heart with clemencies
Father grew jealous of his poise and nature
He always thought for persistent torture
So he planned him to do away
To secure the might he could sway
Fire was lit Holika on heap of wood
Prahlada in her lap began to brood
God saved Holika with gay and mirth
For it had a new leash Prahlada got rebirth
Holi represents colours
In it communal harmony takes refuge
Bushan Malmohi
Eternal Sadness
What’s this eternal sadness,
that never ends?
Winters turn to summers,
but the warmth never comes.
Reminiscence of past,
never finds amends.
Sun sets, night falls,
yet the dawn never comes.
Is it a yearning for the olden days?
Or a past resentment that softly stays?
Is it the autumn maple’s last frays?
Or robin pining for a spring that
forever stays?
Was the past real,
or just a dreamy haze?
Is this instant lingering,
or already a turned page?
Can youth be relived,
or caste even a distant gaze?
Is this sadness or nostalgia,
a lament for a faded age?
Alas! For man, it seems –
autumn always spurns its call.
Memories sprout, spring wanes,
yet the leaves never fall.
In death perhaps the memories would,
yield to a lasting fall.
Or indeed I never wanted,
this eternal sadness to end at all.
Priyanka Sharma
Student at IIIM Indore
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