Matches

Matchsticks scattered around

At an untimely moment,

 Having spilled out

Off the carelessly opened box.

Fingers plied aimlessly

Gathering into a pile

The little wood with coloured head

Dormant to the world.

A few broken halves felt cold,

Calm, as it seemed

My touch indifferent

The candle burned in memory….

 

Copyright © 2016, Deeya Nayar-Nambiar

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