The Burning Cigarette

A cold winter night,
A lonely road,
Strong winds,
Walking too long, too alone.
He found a girl,
Warm and lovable,
He knew she’d be very useful.
A master of these games, it wasn’t difficult for him to tame,
She was the cigar, and he the flame.
It was freezing but he had her,
An empty bench, and as they say, two lovers,
One who smoked the other.
He kept smoking on and on,
From evening to dawn,
Until that night, when
He finally realised,
That the cherry had come too close to his mouth,
And if he sucked her one more time,
It would burn his lips,
And finish all her edges.

He left her,

But she wasn’t even a docker now,
She lived,
But nobody could touch her again now.
He had let her live,
But killed anyway,
He got too late,
She couldn’t be saved.
She waits now,
To find someone,
Who wouldn’t smoke,
But admire her still.
To find someone,
Who wouldn’t light her up,
Who would like the darkness within.
Until the day, her last thoughts remain the same,
I could have been your coat instead, love,
If you didn’t use me up,
I could still be used my, love.
If you didn’t consume me up.
He took out another one,
To get too late yet again,
And again, and again.
Now, even though he tries to stop,
He can’t help himself but smoke,
He waits for his final day,
To not inhale and be okay.
~ Savneet Kaur  | Edited by Afreen Zeb

 

 

 


Image Courtesy: www.pixabay.com



 

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