The fuel of the sun and moon,
my mere touch ignites the flames
in the heart of galactic darkness,
my burnt-out ends form dust-clouds.

Stars are but my sparks,
the mosaic of space,
its filigreed splendour,
my handiwork.

The lightning-bearing cloud,
the hail-storming thunderbolt,
by me are fuelled.

The fire in the wind
hurricanes, blizzards, cyclones,
the fire that causes rain,
unleashes  fury of flood,
burns forests and oceans,
I am that,
the hydro-god of destruction and reconstruction.

Every time one  sets to scale the Everest,
a sudden blizzard or blast
upsets his plans.

An infinitesimal speck
in infinite vast
none there to enthuse and console
save the flame he is born with
that lets him not to accept defeat
but spurs him on and on
to brave every new assault
propelled by fire in his heart.

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