L

in search for

who am i and who is to blame?

but fire is the faster contender

in an involuntary race

and seem to outrun me,

growing steadily faster as i take a turn to exhale

to wander on is to trudge on hot coals

and though life in the eye of a child

seem simple for someone grown,

the path to reach your potential

suddenly becomes a choice

am i to become the arsonist?

or to wave the white flag?

and watch idly while the flames engulfs me,

as my legs give in

and lose this seemingly never-ending race

and what is that but the easier alternative?

when to be the arsonist

is to burn down your house,

is to tame the fire

and walk it on a leash,

to be in control of the match,

and know just when

to strike

to stand the screech of shame,

cremating into dust

and scatter the ashes into abyss

for the arsonist

a blaze is but child’s play,

for she embodies an inferno

and one second isn’t spent

on searching for an answer,

because she has no to blame

she dances as one with the flames