Sing me a song,
Of light that was
Always mine,

Sing me a song,
Of the little
Moments that weave
My life,

Sing me a song,
Of the burning
Embers of desires
Within me,

Sing me a song,
Of time, which
Will take forever
To end.

-Sayali Parkar

And he set the world on fire...
A futile attempt to revive her long deceased smile
His eyes more manic, more frantic, as the flames grew higher
Embers danced through the sky to the song of the crackling orange and yellow hues
Yet, as more and more ash filled the sky,
Her pale, porcelain, face remained blank
Her eyes remained in the same melancholy, empty, gaze
For her smile perished long ago
His fruitless efforts could never bring it back to life

I realize that I am jealous of the sun’s
kiss upon your delicate, caramel skin.
The fervent glow of Her lips
pressed against your supple flesh
singes the curve of my mind’s rapture.
I cannot concentrate when she
leers at me with fervent embers in her eyes.
I touched the blue butterfly, resting
on a glowing, peach rose before us
as our fingers loosely interlocked in the heat.
You cried because someone told you
that the butterfly would never fly again,
but I knew that was not true.

Her light was extinguished by the dark
In a sudden implosion of madness,
And all of the stars that once dusted her sky
Now lie as the dying embers of what used to be
Her fiery soul.

They think I write because I'm feeling emotional.
Dear me.
I wish I was emotional.
But it's the opposite, really.
I write because I feel nothing.
And feeling nothing means feeling a dull thirst.
I thirst for productivity.
I thirst for activity.
I thirst for the passion long gone.

So I wring my hollow heart out
for any inspiration
and whatever drips from it
I maximize fully,
What little gasoline remains from it I use extensively.
I strike a match
and burn everything
as much as I can,
Because I know it's nonrenewable
And I have to hoard ideas from it while stocks last, use it until the embers burn out.