Candle Wax

 In the darkest night, when the nocturnals travail the street and aisle,

In the valley, when the night children make an orbital move to scavenge

The left over by the diurnals, causing a rapid rattling, here and there. 

There in the valley, thousand wax, lie patiently like a black cat lying in the latest hour,

With nostalgia to see the dawn of yesteryears. 

By virtue of darkness, iota of light and illumination disperses; 

The day bears no resemblance with its counterpart, we acknowledge.

But, homecoming of light douses darkness? Therein, myriads of wax, in thousand years, lie,

Feeling aught of the appearance of the busy-ancient-bellingerent-castle-watcher;

Who, on daily course, surveys our dear home for aberration,

Whence their wax, burnt to its lowest ebb.

O Wax! The early thudding fiery tears that sprout from thou

Reminds of how the school children' enacted 

To muster their childhood escapedes; the sturdy components, ALACK! the old

In the middle- to adult, adventure; to hunt for better tomorrows, 

To consummate and enjoy the warm, heartly silence of romance

At the lowest ebb- to old, phantasmagoria; for reminiscence, 

And era of re-assessment. 

From the aisle, a piece of you I got; illuminating passage to life.

Thou hath infused the strength and forces of my muscles.

O master, O master, to whom do I accord? The wax, or the dryad of the air;

Who takes solo walk away while thou is to coma, for years after years.

O thread! Not you sole sustainer of my whole wax?

When he, shall to the ebb burns, you take your eternal abode in the metaphysics,

Leaving nostalgic scars on the wanting-to-rise wax.

Oh! The death-nighing glow in the whistling breeze, petrifies me. Alas! the beacon of the end;

That caveats the tendency to the valley,

That calls the triumvirate to the veil.

O master! I reckon, from behind ocean realm, your mighty deeds

And across the frontier of the East-leigh;

The fall of the Mammoths, and the extinction of the Dinos, to your accord. 

The century hero dares not to claim his valiance, when thou takes a minute recess, 

Motion becomes static; North turns South; leaving cardinals in clash.

To you, to the master be, O thread. 

For your solo exit ends the living wax, lying sturdily like a log.

You move with pace of time, like a bundle of days;

Which portion's vanishes, as each day passes. 

O thread, of what- for time being, is thy mighty length? 

To assure the Hour of no return.

For the wax, to its lowest ebb, must burn;

Born, Burn and Boom! Till you take your peaceful exit.

What cause to celebrate your dissipation?

When your timely glow seizes, I cease. 

For nature, if could be bypassed, I pray thee to stay just a cent

For the wax, means little a feed to the legion' grub;

To leave leprosy for curing rashes, it is.