The Lantern And The Fog Poem by Dorukhan Baris Oguzcan

Once, in a forgotten city veiled in endless mist, there was a single lantern. It burned not because it had to, but because it chose to. Its flame flickered golden against the cold, struggling against the fog that sought to drown it.

The people of the city, lost in the haze, barely noticed its glow. They stumbled past, whispering that the fog was inevitable—that light had no place in a world built on shadows.

Yet every night, without fail, the lantern stood its ground. The wind howled, the mist thickened, but it refused to dim.

One day, a traveler arrived—someone unafraid to see. They paused before the lantern, studying its unwavering light. And for the first time in years, they tended the fire.

The flame grew. It pushed back the fog. The city stirred, its people rubbing weary eyes, realizing that the mist had never been absolute.

The lantern had burned alone for so long, believing its fight was hopeless. But all it needed was one soul to see, one hand to help.

And so, the city learned: Not all darkness must be accepted. Not all light must burn alone.