The old ember is still red hot
concealed under the dry soot
like a drunken architect’ latent intellect;
like a cast off genius in a deep slumber
and like a hidden flower diffusing
its scent around!
People with chattering teeth slither
around the charring timber;
yet compliment
that it’s all due to the fine weather.
The old ember doesn’t take any umbrage.
It burns and burns till it becomes ashes
like a sage who sears his desires
to earn the unseen heavens
as if it is paying its last homage
to the humans who nurtured her
into a tree and later ruthlessly slivered
into hapless firewood
…a sweet-bitter feeling indeed!
When at last the ember becomes a cinder
starts all shivering and cowering around.
While the absonant conclusions
are freezing into a cold consciousness
people mutter, “Oh ember! We miss your ardor! ”
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