Slowly, gently,
Rising in the stale air,
Relinquishing my claim on life,
I go up in smoke.
What is that burns me?
Is it the dream in my eyes?
Is it the vision of my heart?
Or is it, just my old plain lies.
What is that burns me?
Is it the faith of my soul?
Is it the belief of my being?
Or is it, just luck crying foul.
What is that burns me?
Is it the trust to which I bow?
Is it the feelings I beget?
Or is it, just love, which abandons me now.
Slowly, gently,
Rising in the stale air,
Relinquishing my claim on life,
I go up in smoke.
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1 comment:
may be all that burns in you is al that is old and worn..
the old self that you shed like the skin that the snakes shed when they molt
may be it was some old papers, worn out clothes and other such old, worthless things..
maybe that smoke is the smoke rising out of the bonefire of old autumn leaves shed by trees in our lawn, raked to a corner and burnt... cleaning your backyard..
giving the tree space to grow newer leaves ... and you space to cultivate newer, different plants..
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