Beneath the Rhythm of the Dhak
In their new Puja clothes,
Little Khoka and Khuku play,
While by the yard’s edge,
Tiny Muku watches them quietly.
Shivering in the cold stands Dukhu,
The poor village child —
“Give her a dress, won’t you, Ma?”
Muku pleads softly.
The sight of Dukhu’s weary, faded face
Strikes a tender chord in the mother’s heart —
Like a sorrowful note
Trembling on the strings of a veena.
So many like Dukhu —
Lonely, orphaned souls —
Fade away, unseen,
Beneath the festive rhythm
Of the dhak on Puja days.
