A candle that burnt alone...

From a dusky, almond-shaped mould of silk skin, emerged two emeralds, snorted a sword sharp beak, smiled a rose near the end and fluttered two lotuses on either sides.

She hated noise, loud noise,chatters and clutter of glass that slipped to the floor from their hands,
voices from the throats that arrowed the lotuses,
voices that yelled to awaken her from sleep,
voices that scolded her for her mistakes,
and in turn freed her from the agony of punishments without she realizing it.

The rose pumped to hush the murmurings and humming.

 

Now, vacuüm filled the emeralds and silence drilled into lotuses.

The floor slept alone with no glasses to powder onto its cold dust.

Absence of harsh voices made every mistake a crime.

The rose longed to pout to shout.

The only clamour she heard was of her mute dreams.

And the emeralds slept, for nobody awaited her morning cry.

Candles she lighted two, and kites she flew two. For, she dreaded loneliness from the time she was in the womb alone.

She needed a hand in her hand from the time she realized her hands felt lonely together.

She desired another pair of emeralds from the time she noted her own pair looked only up to others.

But, lotuses she used for her own songs.
And now, she stood alone, in joy, in grief, on stage, on street.

For, she, was a candle that burnt alone.