Shama-o-Parwana

The Candle and the Moth

O Candle, why for you does it hold love so vast? Why is its restless soul upon your altar cast?

Your grace makes it mercurial, ever in sway; Have you then taught it passion's sacred rite and way?

It circumambulates your stage of splendor bright; Is it then singed by your gaze's electric light?

In the anguish of death, does it find its soul's own ease? In your devouring flame, is life that cannot cease?

In this world's house of grief, if your radiance were not seen, This burning heart's own tree of hope would not be green.

To fall before you is its sacred prayer and rite; Its tiny heart finds bliss in burning with delight.

It holds a passion for the Eternal Form Divine; A little Moses, on a miniature Sinai.

A simple moth, and such a thirst for light's display! A tiny insect, and for light to yearn this way!