The candle flame is the only protection from the dark. 

Climbing up these old wooden steps, each creaking step carrying the weight,

Of steps made heavy by regret and fear. 

I no longer have the will to protect the flame

From the cold wind, that chases me with 

Whispers of lost paths and loves. 

Letting cupped hands fall,

I watch the flame dance in the wind

Frantically fighting to survive,

Flickering and fanning

To face the shadows created. 

(C) Manivillie Kanagasabapathy