Would it be any different, had it not been?
A cold mass of wax, not Mary’s figurine
Yet a heart that melts, and smelts a hope
The soul that flickers, on a burning rope

And they rest their recalls, on the brilliant flames
Who lost the bodies, of their cherished names!
A fest of light, in a throbbing disguise
A hara-kiri of, self-immolating fireflies

Lasting enough! How long should last?
A song of remembrance, of the past
Kindled aloft by a, fleeting soul
A wax phantom, who pays its toll

The parade for the dead, does die away
Till the tiny torches, hold their holy sway
Night stares at relics, of their lingering sigh:”Never Say Die”
Tears of poignant epics, candles too cry!

© 2016 Vikas Chandra