Oana Noorani

The Candle of Love 💕 

Sadness surrounded me—could it have been Friday? I sank
into an abyss of consciousness, paradoxically climbing a hill of
indolence, carrying on my back my lineage and a fragile world.
Oh no, it was neither heavy nor light, crossing the abyss with
the hope of immortality. But I wasn’t doing it for myself—I did
it for my bewildered world. The light whipped paradoxically in
equivocation between the gaps of an unknown path, and a voice
echoed from the Universe. I swear it bore the consciousness of
an absolute, and perhaps in that moment, I recognized myself
within all that complexity, known and unknown—all that
longing and yearning for infinity. It was a clear demand for
inner expansion, a fundamental right to swiftly overcome the
thorns of circumstance that had suddenly formed an emotional
circle, creating a prison where the surroundings were tightly
constrained and confined.
Beloved, I am like a candle burning fervently. And if
I were to melt, where would you be? Would you choose to
merge with me and the seemingly static ambiance? Do you
know that sometimes ephemerality demands durability in
its specific nature, precisely when time finds its bread and
cradle? Precisely there, where love becomes the tenderness of
circumstance and the grandeur of atmosphere, the entire earth
and infinite sky gather together to resonate in the singular
frequency of fulfillment through the spoken word. It demands
equality in human values and a passage toward progress rooted
in primary foundations.
My eternal one, did you know that even iron bends?
And somewhere along the way, it must conform to events
of great magnitude. But see, no matter how strong iron may
be, in the presence of love’s candle, it will yield. Perhaps the
gateway out will bear a symbol clothed in indisputable attire,
increasingly triumphant. Let me whisper a simple interrogative
sentence: Have you ever wondered why sentiment is stronger
than reason? Please don’t tell me you’ve never noticed the
first spark from the front row on the left. Now I must share
something no one teaches you to recognize—that the answer
lies precisely where heart and mind create a junction. And only
a good teacher reveals the value you hold in this worn-out life
that parades as a high-class lady.
Know that I cry, and sometimes I smile, I have some
pains and a stuffy nose, but I will never stop seeking the truth
transfigured in souls with gem-like qualities, even if these
searches will prove in vain. Oh yes, I will bring forth a world
without stains, regardless of whether it appears without laces.
And from being to being, “Long live Metamorphosis!”—not a
conclusion nor a sentence. Beloved, please give me your torn
and dirty handkerchief, for I am alone and guilty, but you will
see—I will return it to you by evening perfectly immaculate,
in a moment where a lit candle will endure through the new
paradigm that has emerged in this vast world, which does not
wish to be a construction of fleeting wax.