Paint It Gold

By Snehasree Senthilkumar

Golden snowflakes forged from chemical fire, I watch the sparkler’s flickering fingers outstretch into the dark ether, flittingly cutting through the world with their searing brilliance. Like a fine glass that shatters to a million diamonds upon the kiss of deadweight, its effervescent crackling sizzles in a riot. My bewitched eyes reflect a bursting sea of star-flecked gold, dancing against my ebony pupils.

Showers of hot light rain down like hellfire, piercing through the black air, only to succumb to the night’s velvet wrap as they hit the ground as invisible ashes. More sparks explode in anger and take their stead, carrying on with the cause. They don’t dare yield, as they persistently launch themselves into space. But not one angry fleck can or will cross the dark patch of no man’s land.

Chemicals bubble and burn, tearing away the gunpowder grey skin of the sparkler’s body to reveal the gnarly and blistered body beneath. The commanders of this uphill battle, they run their legions of sparks dry within a minute of their furious combustion. Greedy clouds of soot are summoned in a flash, pervading the atmosphere in fumes like a silent wraith against the night sky. Zealously seeking damage, encasing lungs with poison.

As humans, we marvel at these sparklers like a child peeking through a keyhole. The scintillating allure of the crackling light sends us into euphoric excitement, blinding us from its hidden colors. While gold threaded air enchants our vision, the dark smoke disguised plain sight, stealthy and sly. So one day, when the thick air chokes our windpipe, when we scavenge and cry for air to breathe, remember this: we create our demons. Demons born of fire and ash.

By Snehasree Senthilkumar