Another Flew To The Same Light

Straight into the blazing wick,

Was the end of his passion flight.

He knew he had chosen death,

Yet he nosedived into the light.

When I thought it was over,

A little arm rose, from

Hot boiling oil, raised

It's parched wings and lurched.

He fell back again,

Burning a bit more,

Again an arm rose,

Vaulted the seared body.

Out of the death well,

Dropped into his grave,

Buzzing a victory song,

As dew froze his burns.

And another little one,

Perhaps, aware of the

Fate forlorn flapped wings

And headed to the same light.

copyright. Nirmalya Panigrahi