Thursday 7 February 2008

Ode to cigarettes

In books they lit their murky pipes and everything becomes
So illuminated. Okay it does not happen in our life.
But smoking helps.
.
They think about poetry and smoke.
They smoke after sex and before sleeping.
Don’t mind my words; whenever I smoke I blubber insanely
In incorrect grammar about anything in the world. And you’ve to
Suffer it.

The grey clouds of tobacco smoke-flying in wind like souls
Of people died of tuberculosis. Clouds taking shapes of lungs,
Kidney or heart. Where we have lost our souls?
We have exhaled them like smoke.

I smoke cigarettes like metaphors.

I saw a woman smoking and got erection. Her strawberry coloured
Lips and smoke coming out of her nostrils, her perfume mixed with
Tobacco gave me a kick. I searched for her fingerprints on smoke
But I got a print of her breathing pipe on it.

In the middle of a prose poetry, I lit my cigarette and met
With difficult rhyme. I can’t leave smoking for you darling!
The testosterone, poetry, restlessness and world within me
Needs it.

Some days, on some days, I had just few cigarettes in my pocket.
They saved me from kissing ashes.
They saved me to meet you. Try to see my face
Through smoke. I’m more naked there.

Sometimes I felt as if you pupils are two jars full of
Nicotine. white area of your eye is cup full of
Caffeine. Someday I’ll write ‘ode to coffee’.

Like a cigarette I’ll burn one day, till then
I love you sweetheart like I love my cigarette.
I can’t live without you and cigarette.

I know you will scold me for writing such foolish poetry
To justify my smoking. I know everyone will criticise.

I know
I know
I know

I know smoking kills.

But look at this cloud of smoke-How insane, how temporary it is.

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