Smoke

Smoke, gracefullly dancin with the air of blue

wanna have a body

am i happy?

at one point the thick white smoke

dancin proudly with the air.

In a few blinks of my eye,

the prestige whiteness

of the smoke which seems

to be representing my idiosyncrasies;

flexible, graceful, fluid, stranger to form vanishes

as it goes farther and farther every second until

the air devours it mercilessly.

I am suddenly thinking of home.

people say that there is no smoke unless there is fire.

I see children with their potent bodies laughing

and playing around clearly not thinking of what perils

might be faced by them.

Could i still last another day?

Could i even have a body of my own?

Could I play and smile genuinely without

having to worry that my next blink would be my last?

I want to have my anatomy through which

I can walk, talk and savor the prestige

and the strength of the white smoke which i hope

will be preserved as how it was in the

understanding memories of those who

chose to enjoy it.

In fire I exist.