A bard, who smoked, his life, at nights
And smoldered, thru the, days’ despairs
Like an, impish child, chasing, stray kites
Tethered to, the yarns of, thoughts’ affairs!

When twilight sank, in the blood, of sea
He knocked at, my heart, with a rhapsody
Who chose, a whore, for his, art’s critique
A muse, bathed in, moonlight’s mystique!

I read, his lips, as he singed, my breasts
And the, rest of me, with his cigarettes
In the mind, heart, soul, and sin’s conquests
I paid, with my pain, a poor bard’s debts!

He ain’t, anymore, for them, at least
To whom, he was, art’s penury
I kiss, and smoke, his life’s, last feast
The Cigarette Stubs, He Left, For Me!

© 2019 Vikas Chandra