Of you, I made multitudes

'A malnourished man,
just a langot round his waist
and a turban on his head,
oblivious, eyes closed,
bathed in green,
on the heads of thousands.'
An old Steve McCurry click floats
on to the horizon-
like an existentialist
conclusion to the festival.
Among all these,
the motifs of Holi
I imagine your presence
wafting.
Of you,
I make multitudes,
in each particle of the color.
Your square shaped palm
with rounded corners
with your little fingers
had to touch my cheeks today.
They didn't,
so I imagined;
of you,
I made multitudes.
Like uncle Walt,
I had multitudes inside,
I poured all of it,
and, of you,
I made multitudes.