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
Elusive Silence 