The small diyas in every house
One each on either side of the doors.
Outside the small houses with metal sheets
And the balconies of bungalows
Fighting against Chinese lights and electric candles
Attempting to shed light on the artisans’ handwork.
Trying to cover up the darkness in our hearts and souls.
The twinkle in its innocent light.
Spreading rays of joy whilst burning within.
They don’t discriminate between good or bad, rich or poor.
They burn to dissolve the bigotry in hearts.
But little do they know that
Hatred is the fuel that keeps many going.