The Poor Decorative Platoons Poem by Bashyam Narayanan

We were there even before
The first guest arrived
We were not, of course, the host
We were colourful
Attractive to most of the guests
Children looked at us with awe
Even some senior guests
Talked to the host in praise of us
The hall got filled with guest
Young, old, men, women and children
A videographer capturing all happenings
A photographer creating a capsule of stills
A lot noise around
We were witnessing gossips,
Romantic glances,
Secret affectionate exchanges,
Fiery arguments,
Friendly approach for new business deals,
Discussion on weather, politics and so on
But we were never a part of these
But silently watching all these
With a bang came the occasion for celebration
All gathered around
Wished the couple on their
Fiftieth wedding anniversary
Some youngsters fell at the feet of the couple
Seeking their blessings
Some shook hands with the couple
Some greeted them with gifts
And some with bouquets
Some read out a citation
Some sang while some others danced
We were just watching
Time came for dinning
Some held glasses with drinks of their choices
Some turning more confident after intoxication
Some men venturing making fun of ladies of their liking
Some happy with a cup of soup
All were busy with their plates
Some mothers feeding their reluctant kids
Some continuing the discussions while eating
Some being gentle consumers
Some devouring with less pleasant gestures
Videographer and photographer covering all these
Aroma of the food items filled the hall
Function nearing an end
Guests leaving one after another
Hosts thanking each personally for their presence
All left the hall
Switching off lights, fans and air conditioners
Minding not our being left out in dark and suffocation
Dawned and entered a new set of workers
For a new celebration
'Clear all these' was an instruction for a supervisor
All on a sudden
We were pulled down
And thrown into a large dust bin
Some of us were blown out by a strong wind
And we were in the middle of the road
Each passing vehicle making us air borne
With its accompanying flush of wind
No one to take pity on us
The poor decorative platoons