A cigarette song

A cigarette song short poem

The last bit of cigarette from his hand drops into the ashtray.

So does mine.

Are they making love to each other, As we are?

Love, need, passion, kisses, skin, climax.

Are their thoughts like ours, burnt and spent?

As they lie on a pile of ash.

Were you lovers when we picked you from the pack?

Or were destined to be consumed by the flame of frenzied desire together,

As we were?

Will we last only till we burn in that luster?

Breathing in the waft of want.

Watch it vaporize in exhalation.

Are your thoughts like ours, scorched and outworn,

As you lie on a pile of ash.

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Archana Kamath

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I am an ordinary girl with extraordinary dreams. A self taught artist who seeks freedom of expression through art,crafts and words. Bold and unassuming with the ideas and technique,I derive inspiration from a childlike point of view of things around myself. I write and paint in the absence of hesitation brought by non adherence to social logic and influenced debates.I write about my trysts with pain,love,joy,freedom and the journey of it all. My relationship with poetry is at its charming beginning, a quest with thrilling ups and downs. And my experience with writing is like Robert Frost rightly quoted,‘Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.’
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3 Comments on "A cigarette song"

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Editorial Board

What a brilliant parallel drawn between two passions!
Every image stands vivid and clear. The expressions in your poem are marvelous.

Kenneth Miller

this is actually the second source of cigarette butts being juxtaposed to sexual bodies I’ve seen in the last couple months… there is an art exhibit from the Pittsburgh International that includes photos that would complement some of the imagery here even further.

all of these themes hold my attention and fester all kinds of emotion…. I don’t think I know the difference between an image and and expression. I do. But that’ll take a few minutes to consider.

as a general rule… I won’t let my body end up like a used up cigarette butt.

Kenneth Miller

oh, the comment fields are moderated. umph… I am still learning how poetry web sites work.


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