The Little Lamp

Evening comes softly. The sky outside turns deep blue. Inside our room, it is getting dark.

We sit on the floor near the window. We take a little clay diya. It is round and smooth, the colour of earth. We light it gently. A tiny flame wakes up... and it glows.

The little diya looks around. The room is big. Its flame is so small. "Oh," it whispers. "Am I enough? My light is so tiny."

Then a breeze comes in through the window. The curtain moves. The little flame bends and sways. "Oh no," says the diya softly. "What if the breeze is too strong for me?"

We cup our hands around it, gently. Our hands are warm. And the breeze is only soft. It moves the curtain... it moves the flame a little... and then it passes. Whoosh... and it is gone.

The flame stands up straight again. It glows, steady and calm. "I am still here," says the diya. "My light is small... but it is enough."

Now the diya looks around once more. Its warm light touches the walls. It touches the little bell on the shelf. It touches our faces, golden and soft. Gentle shadows dance on the ceiling.

"Look," says the diya. "I cannot light the whole sky. But I can light this one room. My light is small... but it is enough."

We sit close to the diya. The room is quiet and warm. Outside, the stars come out, one by one. Each one is small. Each one is shining.

We breathe in... slow and easy. And out... The little flame glows on. Its light is small... but it is enough.