Burning slow, I'm an incense stick,
My vestige, mere a wisp of smoke.
The flame swallows me low and slow,
Draping me down, to the pit of my soul.
My ashes heap and corpse lay low,
the cologne mixed in air.
If burning be my redemption, my Lord!
So be it so...
If we can make a pure fragrance with our lives as they burn down and we are kind and considerate to our fellow man taking each for who they are and not what they are like the incense stick we will have perfumed the world for the better Beautiful poem 10 ++what they are
Thanks for beautifully interpreting the words between the lines. Inspiring! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
A refined poetic imagination, Plabita. You may like to read my poem, Love And Iust. Thank you.