In some forgotten past of glittering life,
a dull throb awakens;
nebulous, tentative:
tired.
It gazes with starry eyes
into darkness;
Burns itself
in attempting to cajole
an imagined abyss;
Daring it to transform
into a pink and orange dawn,
with unassuming humility,
it throbs onwards to unsung glory,
leaving a name that illuminates
with a single drop of dew
that fades into silence without an encore.
© Geetakshi Arora
October 23, 2013
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