My hand stretches out
Unbiddingly -
Involuntarily
to reach for the long slim
Cigarette.
Shaking fingers
burn it to life;
scorching it
crumbling it to ashes
taking its breath away
to make me feel.
The white cloud
streams free -
after capture in
rotting lungs.
I know-
I know-
My time has come
as it meant to
relentlessly-
Crushed out like the
last remains of a long
slim cigarette;
The hot orange
stifled to grey ash.
And still I do it.
Dear god -
Still I do it.
7 March, '84
Usha Pisharody
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/carcinoma/
