While driving leisurely behind a slow poke.
I noticed billows of curling black smoke.
The smoke was making an overhead trail.
Energetically reaching, but steadily getting frail.
The blazing remains of a human are leaving a smudge.
Silently waving to people below who no longer judge.
The smell of lifeless ashes permeates the tranquil air.
I try not to inhale while refocusing my diverted stare.
An empty calmness takes hold as I make a supposition.
The exiting traces of person do not reveal a disposition.
Oaf or wizard, bankrupt or wealthy, scoundrel or hero…
There is no distinction; the evaluating meter is at zero.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.