Bereft Of Grace

Reach the avenue
where the celebration
is at its heights.

The long winding
lane terraced by
a colourful shamiana.

Announcements restrict
the entry, directing
to go in queues,

as if in a holy place,
a too much of vanity
an expression of an upstart,

Regretting the way
I have to negotiate,
I keep silent,

It is no more joy
to stay, stifling
at all corners.

Helpless, I sit
for a few hours,
watching the events.

Appears garish
and gaudy with no
sense of grace,