Funeral Pyre of a Moth

( Collection of poems inspired by Indian and Urdu poetry. )

 

His passion is his pyre.

But, can a moth help himself?

When the Flame burns so near, yet so far.

 

 

Embrace me oh flame,
Thou dearest flame !
Consumed by such ardent love !
This poor moth’s sacrifice pales in thy comparison.

 

 

Consumed by love, flame burns steadfast through the night.

Can the moth really help himself?

 

 

There Must be ice at the heart of each flame,

For, never have I seen it leap at the passionate moth!!

 

 

Passionate as a moth.

Impassionate as a flame.

Fate of many a lovers,

Since the dawn of Time, till dust.

 

 

Soft caresses of the spring breeze,

Sweet scents of the spring blooms,

Love songs of the cuckoo !

What use are these to me ?

As slowly I burn,

In the fire of our separation !

 

© Bhagwat    Bhagwat_s@Yahoo.com

 

The Moth UNITY conference was a great success
until the evening approached and torches were lit
to add outside lighting.

The moth conference had a blazing finale
as the dim witted moths forgot lesson #1

“Don't approach a flame.”
Poof ! 

Fluttering about
with no sense or reason,
the tiny moth.
What a flame discern
but sputtering about tis the season
into the flame the moth does burn. 

Does he wait and then decide?
or does he plunge and quickly die?
Would his waiting have changed the tide?
or would his waiting have just been a long goodbye? 

Does the moth have a choice?
Does the flame rule this game?
Surely if the moth could have a voice
Surely the flame would gain the fame.  

The lowly moth, always a follower.
The brilliant flame, always a pleaser.
The lowly moth, a wall flower.
The brilliant flame, a conquering teaser.

© Michael Willour - mwillour@gmail.com

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