Spark Of a Star

By Sayesha Atolia

Why do we burn so fiercely,

if the light we believe stems from us

is a mere spark, a figment of comfort?

The stars that conquer dark nights

are specs of beauty,

yet they do not shine for themselves.

They burn because of the scorn of the sun,

the very heat that looms as danger,

sparking them into reluctant light.

We love. We weep. We bleed.

For what?

A fleeting brilliance,

never ours to claim.

The shimmer within us

is nothing but volcanoes,

sulphur boiling in the pits of hell

isolated, uncared for,

where every breath is a struggle.

Yet the blaze returns,

haunting, reminding us of what we cannot hold.

A small spark flees

It turns into fire.

Agony rooted in the helpless soul,

repeating, repeating, endlessly.

Only in grief can one find happiness

without fire, the sparks never arrive.

If we are all burnt, all tainted,

why are our stains still measured

by the very light we return

to a world that hides behind its disguise,

for it is maybe the devil cloaked as witness?

By Sayesha Atolia