light kindles light

night folds its endless hands— shadows stretch & scatter (aching) for warmth for a flicker. a mother whispers prayers, her voice a cradle— soft syllables swaying against the weight of exile’s wind. one wick, then another— then eight: flames lean into each other, (dizzy with hope) (drunk with remembering). oil scarce as breath, yet its story unfolds: a temple reclaimed a heart unbroken. the menorah blinks its quiet Morse code: endure. endure. endure. children spin tops— letters clinking against the wood— (miracles inscribed in the simplest of things) while fathers tell tales that climb the walls like vines, rooting in tomorrow. each candle rises like a soldier— small, steadfast. above, the stars watch, silent witnesses to a people who (always) remember how to make light.