A cigarette held into he hands
And the mind lost into,
Taking a few puffs,
The cigarette glowing red,
The ashes shaken into the ash-tray
On the table,
Poems coming to.
The cigarette shortening
To a stump, a stub
To be thrown out
And after that the child’s tryst
With smoking
To begin with
But the health hazards
Later to confront the poet.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem