Life inside an empty ciggerette packet

 

Drama, poetry, lust, gluttony, sex, frustration, depression, restlessness and those smokes of desire swirls like venomous snakes. The night is dark, the urban haze is creating cacophony. The shadows of death linger on. Heart burns slowly, the brain getting seduced involuntarily. Hallucinations, forgetfulness becomes your only acquaintance. You keep walking through the misty valleys, unknown territories, and those strange boundaries.

You take a long drag, puff out your agony. You aren’t born lonely, you are molded my destiny. You may not be the saddest but your sadistic way makes you an escape. You crave for smiles and love but your mind never accepts the approaching brightness. You love to stay amid darkness. The smokes slowly fade down in your room but the smell lingers on.

You aren’t frightened by skeletons; you become an urban ghost. Your infatuation becomes your love. Your cough accompanies you everywhere, every time. You just need no reason to inhale dusk. You become active after a short fag, your heart quivers but your mind smiles. Your fingers stink, your body becomes cold, and you still love to arouse yourself with those finished sticks. The butt! You love to kiss it. You aren’t satisfied till you reach the end. Your wait for the next never diminishes. You can go on and on. Nothing soothes your soul more than those killing white air. 

You talk about pink moon; you never miss a chance to appreciate those inglorious thin long pieces of desire. You crave for them at night, you can’t work without them, you become helpless, you crawl like a dying insect, and you never give up. You hate to see those burned cigarette butts resting unattended and those used match sticks dirtying your preserved melancholy.

Suddenly, the wind changes direction. The haze becomes fire. There’s no life within an empty cigarette packet but we hardly try to peep inside…

And though, nobody is complaining. Why should I ???