Fire, a poem by Sarvessh Senthamarai Kannan

Fire, a poem by Sarvessh Senthamarai Kannan  

Prometheus stole it for us.

Zeus tried to keep it from our hands.

What kind of power holds such worth

that even gods would guard its flame?

What force could stir the wrath of heaven,

invite the chains, the endless pain,

just to place within our fragile grasp

a light that would outlive the gods’ domain?

Now it lives within our every day,

a quiet force we rarely name—

resting in embers, roaring in furnaces,

dancing at the edge of every flame.

A flicker, a blaze, a burning line

between survival and the grave,

a fragile glow in darkest nights,

a fierce defender, wild and brave.

It crackles softly in the silence,

yet roars when given breath and space,

it warms the hands that gather near,

yet scars the ones who misplace grace.

It cooks our food, it lights our path,

it forges steel, it shapes the land,

it turns the coldest dark to life

with just a spark from careful hands.

Of all the wilds we cannot tame,

this one bends, yet never breaks;

it listens, waits, then leaps to life

with every risk a human takes.

A living spark, a gift, a curse,

a power balanced thin and tight—

it builds our homes from ash and dust,

then tears them down in a single night.

It carved the path from beast to builder,

from shadowed caves to cities bright,

it fueled the dreams of early minds

who dared to challenge endless night.

From torch to kiln, from flame to engine,

from hearth to rocket’s blazing core,

it carried us beyond our limits,

to places none had reached before.

Yet still it whispers ancient warnings,

in every forest set alight,

in every spark that leaps too far

and turns control to helpless fright.

For fire remembers what it once was—

untamed, relentless, fierce, and free,

a force that bows but never yields,

a shadow of what it could be.

And still we hold it, close and careful,

this stolen gift, this burning art,

a symbol of both our creation

and the danger within the human heart.

For in its glow we see ourselves—

our hunger, brilliance, fear, desire—

the power to build, the power to break,

all mirrored in a single fire.

So we guard it now, as gods once did,

not with chains, but watchful eyes,

knowing its worth, its endless hunger,

its truth no myth can fully disguise.

A spark, a flame, a legacy—

our greatest tool, our oldest escape,

the line between what was and is,

the force that helped our future take:

fire.