Nishat Wasim
The candles burn bright
illuminate the night
hold back the terrors
braving the dark clouds
the old moon in the arms of the new moon
foretelling a storm.
Thunder, lightning, whipping rain
announce the coming of the storm.
The high winds
flutter, splutter the flames.
The candles flicker, brighten for a moment,
then die.
Letting
The
Terrors
The
Horrors
In.
