Rhythmic grumbling

Back in Bombay, 11;20 p.m

I thought Deepavali would be past
but I returned while ropes of colored lights
still stammered in the windows,
and flights of bullying rockets
roused me from my bed
to sit listening
to little boys playing
with toy pistols in the street below.
They sound like gardeners clipping hedges in the park.

Postscript:
Jayan insists that I include his version:

Deepavali past
Ropes of colored lights on windows
Flights of bullying rockets
Tearing the smoked up sky