As
the embers of my last cigarette
Are
quietened by the wind
I
look through the mist
Of
nicotine ghosts....
A
world cluttered with hexagons
The
lives and the lifeless
All
in one frame....
Like
chips of coloured glass
In
a playful kaleidoscope....
While
my hung up mind
Chooses
to surrender....
To
the balmy peace
Of
a consummated moon....
The
wilderness sways
In
my silent adoration
Of
one scar- less instance
That
man has failed to molest....
And
I’m one
With
her presence....
Whether
it is her beckoning
Or
a drugged nerve wreck
I
know not.....
For
now, I decide
To
blindfold my being
In
her tender embrace...
And
brush off the shreds
Of
worldly affliction....
To
carve out the essence
Of
those fathomless bokehs....
