Fringes of Sorrow

She is a little girl
Deforming,
In the smoke of my Cigar
Turbulating.


We need more smoke and fire
To see her form.
Yesterday Nero burned Rome.


As the dazed night
Gives way to dawn,
I hear her careless song
From beyond the horizon.
In vain, I try to hold her in
Then this acceleration
in me, she fades away.
I sniff at the last strand of smoke
Rising from my ashtray.

(Its a very old poem...thought i shud post something as a neutralizer for the previous post)

manifestations of superiority complex

everybody clicks
everybody writes
everybody reads
nobody rebels
everybody rebels
nobody rebels..
everybody rebels
and nobody feels