A lamp

It is the story of a lamp

A small lamp made of clay

Made in colors of the earth

The Maker must’ve had a day

It would not even sit still

Long enough for the making

Unfinished and unadorned

Grinning for the taking

Picked up by the beggar

And filled with oil as if by plan

Given a wick made of hope

Lit up and shouted “I am”

With the whirling of the earth

And the tugging of the sun

Sands of time moving

The lamp kept moving on

From the temple to the winehouse

Lighting up the space around

In the stillness shining bright

In the storm a struggle found

Lighting up as it went

Victory torches and funeral pyres

Sometimes the light of hope

And other times hell’s fires

Seeking to find meaning

In it’s burning day and night

Seeking to find why

It wondered wrong and right

On the banks of the river

It met a lamp wise and old

Beautiful in colors

Its light shining gold

I learnt my purpose is to burn

And give away my all

Until the oil is all gone

And the last veil shall fall

My clay will meet my Maker

My light will always shine

The hope and love pass on

The story shall be mine

Published by ElusiveSilence

Always wondering....

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