In the hush of twilight’s tender hand,
When the power would wane and the darkness stand,
We’d gather ‘round with eager eyes,
As the kerosene lamp began to rise.
No inverters then to break the spell,
Just the soft, warm light we knew so well.
Its flickering glow our world would chart,
To tales that lived within our heart.
Grandparents’ voices, rich and deep,
Wove stories that would haunt our sleep.
Ghosts would whisper, fairies dance,
In far-off lands of pure romance.
Outside, the rain would patter and play,
Adding magic to the stories’ sway.
The night would stretch, the world grow small,
Under the lamp’s enchanting thrall.
How we longed for the power to fade,
For in those moments, memories were made.
Eerie shadows, comforting light,
Made those golden days burn bright.
In our hearts, those nights remain,
A cherished link in memory’s chain.
The kerosene lamp, a beacon of yore,
Guiding us back to those days once more.
Author Bio
Mita Das, a teacher from the small town of Coochbehar, is driven by a dual passion for education and writing. She is a prolific author contributing stories, poems, and quotes in both English and Bengali to over 90 anthologies, some of which hold records. Her accolades include the esteemed Bookleaf 21st Century Emily Dickinson Award. Mita is also the author of "The Songs Of Heart," a collection of poems. Beyond her literary pursuits, she finds joy in painting, dancing, and indulging her inner Potterhead and nerd.
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