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Martyred flame

A humble candle’s flame was haunting the darkness engulfing

broader landscape

It was agitating the enemies of enlightenment

whose restlessness was borne

in the hot air huffed and puffed

every now and then

The pencil rays of light

was enough not just to expose the

ruthless and gruesome faces,

but to identify a way of hope, too

in the din of deafening noises of obscurantism

Not that the candle was unaware of

its ever melting stature

Rather conscious it was of its

self-chosen task and

was a willing participant in that process

Forces of hatred and venomous politics

were hell-bent on foreclosing the

humble glow spreading across the

darker space and were

enraged that their giant shadows were

cast on the walls by its smiling presence

Alas, the blackened wick turns smoky

as the flame is put off by an

avenging blow of air by the

devilish mouths

But, the falling candle had already lit

a million candles whose

united flame gets ready to

drive out the darkness and

torch the hatred once and forever.

And for the moment,

they glow, in silence,

remembering the sacrifice

of that unique, humble, unassuming

candle, thy name is, Dhabolkar ...

( The writer’s email:

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Printable version | Apr 7, 2020 1:58:50 AM |

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