Cigarettes prose poem

Photo by reXraXon

A cigarette is a green tale inside a white coffin;
Her shoe is a hat, its end a line of smoke.

A cigarette is milk falling from breasts;
Mouths are swings hanged on Oedipus complex.

A cigar is the color of Havana in a coffee-shop near Wall Street.

A cigarette dies slowly, between heart embers and ashes, just like us.

There, under Statue of Liberty, where guns and Virginian tobacco grow up, they smoke with the lungs of third world;
This is just an immaculate conception.

A pipe is a statue of eternal suckling;
Romulus kills Remus, in the she-wolf cities.

A cigarette is holding death, deliciously, between two fingers.

To fall in love with a Hollywood beautiful actress is to smoke a cigarette under water.

Abel died before his time; He’d been choked by the smoke of his own sacred sacrifices.

A cigarette for a smoker is an incurable murder; who is the murderer? Who is the murdered?

A cigarette is just a very ordinary love affair;
We kiss her; she kills us.

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Fareed K. Ghanem

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I am 58 years old, from eastern Galilee, Israel (Palestine). I studied English literature, psychology and Law at the Hebrew university (Jerusalem). In the last three years, I published three books of which is dedicated to prose poetry. You are invited to visit the Facebook page Shadows of Water, where I publish my prose poems I translate to English.
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