Just because I was bored ...
A Pseudo-intellectual Poetry
There are some eight-ten boxes
lying in the corner of study-table;
rectangular, congruent - trying very hard
to become a post-modern artwork forming
interesting quasi-symmetric coherent patterns.
I extend my hand to take out a cigarette --
inevitably almost always nine of them are
empty and I usually find the right one only
after tiresome seven or eight failed attempts.
Ash-tray standing beside is over-burdened
with cinders of cremated spent-out happiness.
Each time smoke is lit up
I char lungs to kindle the flame in my brain -
whirling rings moving upwards craft
invisible letters of a smoky love-story
carrying homage to the thinker above.
I char lungs to kindle the flame in my brain -
whirling rings moving upwards craft
invisible letters of a smoky love-story
carrying homage to the thinker above.
🤘🏼
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