no stock for tonight

concealed under circles of smoke
embellished with flying ash
if you see a mossy face
with reddened eyes and glare on glasses
choking at times
but not stopping to light fags after fags
held by slender hands
you may think that he could be a poet
deep in his thought
or
a philosopher trying to theorise something nonsense
or
a lovelorn man struggling to cope with his recent tragedies

when i see
eight butts by my side
while trying to locate saturn in the hazy sky for an hour
i laugh at myself

why only mars and spica
and
jupiter, castor and pollux
are so conspicuous
and other planets are elusive tonight?

i fucqueen have only one cigarette left
and
all shops are closed by now

¤BlackBerry Poem¤

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