Cotton braided wicks
would never know,
where they will be
lit to drive darkness...
Few who care,
polish the lamp
refill the oil
trigger the wicks
to savor the light.
Rest who don't,
never realize
the plight of
burnt wicks.
Wicks,
cherished or
left to perish,
exist just
for the sake of
burning...
-Aruna Subramanian
About the Author
Aruna Subramanian
Member Since: 24 Sep, 2020
An engineer by profession, residing in Bangalore and trying to hold on to the passion to write among the daily hustle-bustle....
View Profile
Comments