Besides the grey fireplace
Of a cold desolate house
sitting on the cold stone
At the foot of the bare hearth
Bereft creativity, bent shoulders
Seeking writings inside closed eyes
Long killed in realms of physicality
Materialize Fire embers in brain
Stoking a thought to 'Boson'
Seemingly random act of creativity
to spell out the self locked inside
A stray spark flies, to light
Looking to kindle a flare inside
Stir a bonfire within vaults
Of long emptied Imagination
To writhe out an inferno so profound
Move mountains, combust chains
and build a frenzy, a conflagration
Just about a flickering candle
Next to the heart's inferno
A history of repressed holocaust
In every wake of modern life
Truth remained in eyes, unpenned
Sputtering life, in absence of Oxygen
Elusive 'Neutrinos', freedom of right
The embers dying, leaving grey coals
Wheeze and whine, inside wintry shrine
Empty altar rung with hollow bells
Give up this scintillating thought
to scorching speech, honest rhymes
Give in, lay down, acquiesce
hang on to chores mundanely
The genius anyways, long snuffed
like snowflakes drifting down chimney
Extinguishing, the spark, long gone
Now all that is left, a tinder gone cold
Grey and white ashes resembling coal
Perhaps this burnt out coal someday
In some fireplace, will smolder
Enflame an incandescence of Originality.
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Copyright ©Seema Jayaraman, Mumbai 11Oct2015 All Rights Reserved
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The spark is not extinguished nor is the coal burnt out, but like a dormant volcano it lay only to spew molten words into blossoms of poetry.
Thank u dear Purni, @times to see sm old spark flare. Only to die down.. Yet the lone spark struggles n produces light once a while. Thank u.