‘Memories of my old torch’

The torch was shimmering,

but there was light,

power degenerated,

but material fine.

It was the old torch,

the same old torch,

which directed in my navigations,

when I was in a maze,

when I did not see the imminent manhole,

the verge of the steep cliff,

the fangs of the lethal reptile,

the tiny teeth of wee ants

that caused swelling umpteen

and soared body;

the ruptures in a straightway,

the up lanes and down,

the bent in the street

and…

The old torch was my friend,

it was, I thought, will be

one perpetual with me.

I never enquired its expiry,

its longevity.

I never thought

of its technicality,

its inward batteries, wires and instruments

that might corrode

due to disupgradation,

I thought it to be

a reservoir of omnipotence,

light.

But forgot, that too is transient;

fool I.

The batteries smelt one day

like odd sulphur,

like melting, like heated.

Its boiling point climbed

beating mercury,

like molten earth and craters

inside the ground

ready for volcano.

And, the shimmering stopped.

There’s no light,

no way, the earth was

strangulated by the black hole,

what’s there one step forward,

what’s there ahead?

Could anyone speak

which way my destination is?

which way leads to my place?

I’m standing, there’s no movement,

like wax, like the tallest tomb,

the longest wall,

at a place of around 1feet.

And suddenly, I see

an obscure light,

there’s a light, a torch…

This will be my shelter, and

I shall go on navigating again.

I shall give this the strength

of my old torch,

take care of its technicalities,

a new torch.

But the memories of my old torch

can never turn sepia, can never be…