Firefly Poem by Neelakash Mukhopadhyay

The fog is dense, intense,
and I'm not the sun,
I do not have in me
the glowing passion, wrath, desire,
to dispel, fling to shreds,
the clouds of melancholy.
Yes, the fog is dense,
and, no, I'm not the sun.
I'm not the sun,
but at least, I am a firefly,
a speck of light, a glimpse, negligible,
hardly present, hardly visible,
hardly there, but there.
I have in me the power to set ablaze
the minds, to create suns, to dispel clouds.
You'll ask ‘what's a firefly worth, pray? "
I'll say, ‘look around you;
you'll see the caliginous fog press down,
and a tiny speck of light, a glimmer,
of illumination, hope.
That's me.
No, I am not the sun,
but at least I am better
than those thousands, millions
of stubborn minds, who sit night after night,
year after year
in oppressive darkness.
They don't see, they don't try to see,
that they are not fireflies,
but dormant suns,
who, when set ablaze, can destroy, dispel,
fling away the clouds of despondency.
‘Come on', I say, ‘be the suns you are
garner the glow, dispel the clouds,
be your own light'.
But no, I am not the sun;
I am just a tiny speck of light,
trying to prevail over
the enormous veil of darkness.
I am just a
FIREFLY.