The last rays of the setting sun
seem to whisper a final goodbye
as it sinks into clouds of orange and pink,
illuminated by its own moody light;
A single moth welcomes a gloomy dusk,
humming around a pair of bloodshot eyes:
another lonely night must be faced
with candles and dying fireflies;
It is a new moon night,
made brighter artificially,
It is a night filled with wailing
and weeping in odd corners
of bright homes, decorated with light.
In a small room of a corner house,
a candle lies unlit,
a box of half-filled matches lies near it,
a hand wanders, lights a match and shakes it off,
shocked by the noise outside;
Used up matches paper the room
as prolonged crackles fade away
to welcome a quiet, hazy day
with its watery, pale winter sunlight
© Geetakshi Arora
October 29, 2013
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