the burning fire
Its all till it is there
its warm,
its blazing
its flames surps up
consumes whatever is thrown into it
makes place
for what it cant consume
keeps adjusting,
keeps expanding
natures’s forces,
wind, temperature
give it shape
make it to change
and it changes
but keeps burning
people, flock it
relish on it,
its warmth, its light
praise it, envy it,
and it responds,
its flame surps up
and then comes the moment of realization
the nightingale coos from the dark,
and the owl nods in yes
squirrel comes out of its tiny warm home
peeps over dwindling fire
sheds a tear or two
goes to its room
and kisses its two
small buddies lightly on cheek
they smile and say
whats the matter mom
nothing my dear, says she
wipes the tear
and slips into bed
knowing that the fire
down the tree, its home
has now turned into amber
the people flocking it have gone
and so have the ever surping flames
so, in the morning
when children get up
they will miss the heat
and will say
o! the great burning fire
who warmed us in winter
you turned to amber
we didn’t know
we are so sorry
please forgive us
for it was mom!
o! loving mom!
who didn’t tell us;
Now, you have turned to ashes,your memories;
but we remember you
and miss you
we didn’t tell you
but we love you
then came a gust of wind
and the ashes,
the memories
were swept away
it spread over a field
looking to the heaven..!!
some angel passing by
heard the two squirrels crying
and said,
o! flame of light
o! flame of heat
ashen you might have been
forgotten you might have been
but died, you have not,
for the deeds of yours
I give you one full point,
and the field you got spread over
I bless it with life,
soon the paddy will grow it over
and you will live in the memoir
I wanted to do some more
but oh! how sorry I am,
I can’t make you alive
o! how sorry I am,
for it is out of my power
and oh!
and he broke in tears;
and then, there was GOD,
watching the flame
hearing the squirrel
listening to angel;
he smiled and said
o! my angel
how sorry I am!
how cruel of me!
for it was me
who made you bound;
who made squirrel cry;
who made the fire ashen;
but oh! what I can do
for it is to happen;
squirrel can’t change it,
nor can you
and what to say more,
even I can’t do,
for it is the way,
the mystery of world goes,
which they call,
Life! Life! Life!


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