The Lamp Of Steady Light Poem by Sumita Jetley

In a corner of the city, where dreams flicker low,
A young artist named Zaid, full of doubt, full of woe.
He knocked on the door with a question in mind,
"What if I fail? What will I find? "

The landlord was wise, didn't offer a speech,
Just handed him a lamp, a light within reach.
"No magic here, " the old man said,
"But this lamp has seen many through, fed."

Zaid took the lamp, placed it by his side,
Turned the crank slowly, watched the light abide.
Each stroke of his brush matched the lamp's steady glow,
No rush, no hurry, just patience to show.

The days passed by, the paintings took flight,
Not in bursts of fame, but in gradual light.
He returned with rent, no words too grand,
Just a nod from the landlord, a shake of the hand.

In the studio, the lamp still glows,
A symbol of the journey, the path Zaid chose.
For true intensity doesn't shout or burn bright,
It grows in the quiet, like a lamp in the night.