Like the silent burn of my lit cigarette,
Growing ever so bright, fueled by its own death,
She was there waiting for whom, I know not
Like the fumes of my lit cigarette,
Fading away into emptiness, her gaze
Wanderd, aimless, for whome I know not.
With each breath of ecstasy,
My eyes rolled in.
With each passing minute of agony
Her tears rolled out.
The women I speak of, I know not
Her feelings, I know not,
Her reasons I know not.
Like a shallow bureaucrat, I watched
Like a taciturn spectator, I watched
With the cigarette trodden underfoot, i
Walked into the empty compartment.
Looked out of the stained window, I did
The wooden benches on the vacant platform felt warm.
Warmer than that cold morning.
Warmer than my callous heart.
Better off with the tobacco and just wait - like a moth to a flame
good piece, Jathin...an artful write...a memory as if the ashes down your feet...a shade of her you know not...as if the smoke that vanishes in the thin air...10
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
like they say it is all in the mind. keep on jathin.