I am but a meek candle light
Sleeping invisibly
Cradled deep within
The shiny brass candle stand
Upon the wooden mantelpiece
Right in the centre
Of the decorative room
Almost like a firm fulcrum
To the entire universe.
I am like
A quiet observer
Sitting bored through my day
And often mischievously alive
by night,
Observing, nothing more
Than a few static movements
Of time and motion
Floating incoherently
In the everlasting drama
of our impervious lives.
I have my
spurious moments too
Drunk often
In the frivolity
Of saucy gossip
And then
like a pendulum
Swing dramatic,
So like the stoic grandpa clock
Tick tocking,
Keeping time and
A fearless watch
There right above me…
And within the depths
of affections
Of releases
Of carelessness
Of secret deft touches
( often beneath the wooden dinner table )
I float all around
Sighting everything
Yet nothing,
In full freedom of my
Flirtatious existence
I penetrate
I perpetuate
I punctuate
Every corner of
This majestic living room
With my audacious
Strength of burn
I then imperiously judge
Inmates and relatives
Young and old
Of many sexes
And more strangers
Who drop by weekends, to
socialize
Fantasize
Romanticize
and eye smartly
Subtly,
the aging single malts
( Stored neatly
In an affluent corner
Right opposite boring me..)
And with the desperate glee
of a thirsty survivor
Crossing life’s dry desert
Of an endless sorrow
They gulp.
And then often
I add myself
Voluntarily,
selflessly
Spuriously,
to the subtle evening’s ambience
With the warm incandescence
Of my burning wick
i try
and offer
Some more
Reflective romance
to the existing
Chords of a dying melody
Of an everlasting waltz
Floating magically
from the century old broken piano
reverberating effortlessly
Besides me.

The evening seems nearly complete.

And all I need to do now
Is keep burning
Singular,
Steadfast,
Stoic,
( and not melt in the weakness of the perfect moment )
Till the music dies too
An untimely death, and
As the complete romance fills every air
In the fullness of the night.