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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