EMBER

People with chattering teeth slither
Around the charring timber; yet compliment
That it’s all due to the fine weather

The old ember doesn’t take any umbrage
It burns and burns till it becomes ashes
Like a sage who sears his desires
To earn the unseen heavens
As if it is paying its last homage
To the humans who nurtured her
Into a tree and ruthlessly slivered later
Into hapless firewood
A sweet-bitter feeling indeed!!

When at last the ember becomes a cinder
Starts all shivering and cowering around
While their absonant conclusions
Are freezing into a cold consciousness
People mutter, “Oh ember! We miss your ardor”