it’s winter

we standby waiting patiently for the fire to get warmer

hoping Aimlessly that it will ignite

But it’s dead

it can never be revived

nor can it ever be seen consuming the Good wood that was put in

for Years and Years

The parents had said “No there”

“don’t do that”

The community had raised their voices jokingly”be careful there”,

“run away from that”.

Good wood

Good quality too

it takes just a decision to bring alive the guilt from within

But

But

not with these

these let the fire ignite a spark

But never go to flames

A Character that makes one

never ignite

all who had took they time in gathering such good wood

they turn their faces away and say

“GUILT, the guilt is dead”

The shame

they turn with their faces downcast.

it’s winter no warmth there

so there lies no character

the guilt less-the flameless