It’s the end of the journey.
The flame clings to the last drop of oil
Carried by the last bit of wick.

While it lasted, it saw everything –
The white of lies, the grey of ambiguity,
The red of love, and the black of malice.

Now, its tiny yellow and orange shape
Casts a dim shadow on the wall
With no escape from its fate.

It struggles against the gusts of winds
Hoping for one more opportunity
To flicker, to dance wildly, to just breathe.

Slowly and slowly, it loses strength.
And its will also fades away
With each passing moment.

Then, with a final sigh, it gets snuffed
Released from all that it suffered
Curling into a wisp of smoke.

The last trace of the flame is gone
And with it, all the colors
Mingle into the vast azure calm.