The house lies still,
Night envelopes the room.
Silence consumes me.
A pale column resonates light,
Searing its life away
with trumpeting pride.
Candle’s light.
It shifts and grows,
Breathes,
And flickers
Under my steady hand.
The wick thins,
The wax wanes like the moon.
Cast from the midst of a furnace.
The fire thrives and feeds,
To rise above the air.
I take its breath away,
Darkness covers me.
Only then I smell…
Cinnamon.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem