Saw him disgusted,
making a face,
still he took it in his shivering hand.
Following the style,
Held it between the hands,
with a fear, he narrowed his eye
to meet "the gang-leader's eyes.",
who stared at him, to start.
He, with a hue of a terror, smiled.
Slowly his hand started reaching his mouth,
it partially disappeared inside it.
it came out,
Allying with lots of smoke
Then his fearful smile,
changed to a proud one,
A pat on the back he got by "the gang".
And he started the fashion again.
One day asked him why?
"We love the hiss and puff of it."
I had seen them practice it everyday!
After they finish,
they crush it under their feet,
and walk as if nothing happened.
They don't know how much has happened!
Tar and soot inside their body,
Covering as if holding tight a loved one,
They are rotting their own body,
Are they not scared of it?
we end our miseries with this.
We forget what bad happened to us,
if we take it in.
No matter how much you stop,
Its a pleasure. Can it be ceased?
I saw him again,
in the hospital.
Lifeless as stone.
Face not what I had seen once.
Miseries, that he thought he removed,
with the small tar-pipe,
covered his face.
What is the use?
It just gives death,
Or hold on, and die.
Its not cool, its not trendy.
Life is a gift,
Don’t smoke it off.
Miseries are obstacles,
Don’t soot it off.
Don’t blow your life for them.
Don’t die for living a misery.
Happiness would come,
It’s the rule of life’s helm.