A few moments of flicker
an endless struggle to fight dark
before the final blinker
in the face of a hostile wind
lands you in a battle of sorts
to test the grit of your drooping mind;
before being blown out
you're a half-burnt oil-soaked wick
in the burning oil-filled lamp,
but in poor capillary flow
leading an entire lamp to be in flames
with flutters of excitement
inviting the last minute of end games
bend down, inhale the fresh smoke divine
emerging from the earthen lamp
pray, feel‘nothing truly is mine';
oil, lamp, wick and fire all are thine
and we the illusion of an endless pine.
A poem with a spiritual message. feel‘nothing truly is mine'; oil, lamp, wick and fire all are thine and we the illusion of an endless pine. Thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Such a fine poem, Saroj👍👍👍