In lamps of clay, a wick burns like a soul
Holding by the window where a sight was lost

A gaze that pursues in an endless dark
And hands scrambling is heaps of ash

“What are you searching in extinguished fires?
What were ever retrieved form mounds of ash?”

“I lost my hearth in flares of the night
When fires came calling in a Nero’s flight”

“I search for a spark to draw my shadow
I seek a flame to torch the night”


Lamps that breathe of earth and water
Arriving in tender and open palms

Some burn tranquil in glows of faith
Some endure a furnace of ache

Walking tempests of rain and fire
Lamps then scatter back to dust.

31st May, 2013