A butt of cigarette I lit,
Raising the fumes in the air,
Lost was I, watching it disappear high.
It was the month of December
The times when birds retreated,
The times when I watched the clear blue sky..
In the paralyzing cold, my palms felt numb
And the cool breeze whispered-
A sort of slurred "Hush" into my ears.
Lost was I, watching the birds soaring high
And then I felt alive...
Yet again I felt alive when the edge of the cigarette butt
Seared my finger, making me feel alive.
I watched the morning dew drops
As fresh as the mint,
As imperial as the pearl.
And then came the whiff
Blowing my thoughts like fallen leaves.
The branches danced fanatically to the rhythm of the wind,
And then I heard the soft gentle voice
That echoed into my ears.
It wasn't me, neither was it you.
On the crossroad I stand,
Mesmerized by the candy-coated voice
Hold on for a moment I screamed
But before my words, before my thoughts
The sound muffled into the air.
It wasn't for the air,
It wasn't just for the voice
But it was for the charismatic caress that I felt,
I still long for the experience once again.
hey WOW ....very nice.....:)
ReplyDeleteThanks a lot Adrita
ReplyDelete"I like Cigarettes; I like to think of fire held in a man’s hand.
ReplyDeleteFIRE, a dangerous force, tamed at his finger tips. I often wonder about the hours when a man sits alone watching the smoke of a cigarette, thinking. I wonder what great things have come out from such hours. When a man thinks there is a spot of
fire alive in his mind – and it is proper that he should have the burning point
of a cigarette as his one expression."
- Ayn Rand (Atlas Shrugged, 1957)
Its gret to know that I and Ayn Rand think alike... :) :)
ReplyDelete