Light found its way,
Pouring from the mud laden walls,
Dripping from thatched roofs of hay.

It found its way to Ahmed’s stall,
To our Rajni small,
And to our Srinu tall,
Fighting against time’s brawny sway,
The light found its way

It rolled across the fields of wheat,
To the heights of the hills,
To the river at its feet.
It was monsoon in the month of May,
For the light had found its way.

The light condensed into ink of blue,
It made it to paper,
Became a celebration long due,
All their fears it did slay,
When the light found its way.

It was a celebration of expression,,
A retelling of stories forgotten,
Knowledge freed itself from the chains of repression,
The ink of ignorance had declared a fray,
The light of the written word had finally found its way.