Credits
This atrabilious smoke
of the horizon in our world
wraps its scarf round our neck
choking, smothering
the last stroke of breath,
yielding now not for a moment.
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We are all prisoners of our fate!
Four walls, no air,
idle, dull routine of an afternoon -
the smoke billows,
curling its venomous thread
around our hair.
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Credits
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Tell me how we got this useless,
entombed, mutilated ?
Tell me how some of us became lifeless,
dispatched, asphyxiated ?
Then, we allowed some smoke out
burning those useless traces in hell.
However we hope to conquer our worst enemy
which is ourselves.
