large (4)The whiff of smoke

from the soot left behind

in your token

enkindles your memories.


The twinge, the pleasure

of remembering your face

and how your words

make life timeless.


I fear the moment when I’d

press my nose against your token

and your scent would

have faded away forever.


So I walked up to the 

 tobacconist for a straight

and he looked at me

with utter astonishment.


I let the shadows of the 

Night hide me as I walked

away with that little stick

clenched between my fingers.


But it didn’t smell like you, yet

It smelled of tobacco

and I needed the grime

And so I thought, deep.


To light it, I’d have to smoke it

And it would become an 

addiction like the one that

was starting for you.


And I needed no more

trouble than I already have

Keeping your thoughts locked 

shut within Pandora’s chest.


So I threw the match-stick away

And placed the cigarette gently

within the folds of my shawl

inside a shelf, away from light.


I cannot have it, because

it does not belong with me.

But I long for it, because it

gives Me a certain meaning.


But it feels better in the hand

of another and all I can do

is allow it to break my reveries

and play with my dreams.


Soon, I’d have to shift my room

And I know the cigarette will fall

off in some unknown corner

out of my sight, and life.


But the person whom

it reminds me of,

will he share the same fate,

and depart from my memories?


Because once in many a

nights in our young lives

do we run into someone who

catches the spark in our eyes.


And every action of theirs

seems to complement

our momentary existence

in their company.


But it is forbidden,

and Him I cannot have.

And so his existence

will turn into reminiscences.


And when serendipity

knocks at my door,

I will hope to find traces of Him

in my harbinger of Love.



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