Wispy Smokes Poem by Pushpa Ratna Tuladhar

Wispy Smokes



Musty whitey smokes belched
From the cigarette I smoke
Convert into circles,
Glide up and up,
Bounce from the ceiling of my room,
Alter the circles into fretted shapes,
And escapes out of the room
Congested with the noises
Of wine glasses striking each other,
Of loud sound of smoking and
Of vague murmuring of discontent
Through the ventilator
And adheres to silvery clouds in the sky.

Only the tobacco-like smells
Disperses the musty air of barroom
Completely disgusting and unpleasant I feel.

The long cigarette I smoke
Glows with fire and
Shortens itself abruptly to the tip
As if it is in a frenzy to sacrifice
For the sake of my pleasure.

To uttermost satisfaction in my mind,
I extinguish my burning cigarette.
Only a wisp of fire appears
And remains the wasted tip
As left over in the ashtray.

Fretfully I glare at
Every circle of smokes
That stick to consume its existence
As I do for my living in my life,
Sitting at the cornered table at the barroom
I sip a glass of wine
That cheers for my life
Savoring every drops, which
Amuse me for a while
Besides the immense disgusting surroundings
Sprung up inside the Barroom.

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