He Stands There With A Cigarette In His Hand

He was standing separate,

with a cigarette in his hand.

No one looked at him,

but he was trying to hide.

Smiling to the others standing beside him,

he once more winched up,

with all courage and might.

Bringing it close to his dark soft lips,

he tried to quash his id.

He didn’t care of the moral values learnt back then,

neither did the society.

But what was it that held him back?

Where did his confidence vanish?

He wasn’t doing any wrong!

Smoking kills but who cares.

At least he didn’t!

Then why?

This WHY was killing him.

Was it the smile of that woman?

Which once gave him goose bumps!

Or was it the love and care, she had showered

when he was young.

Was he feeling the same pain,

the lady went through those nine months?

He stood there like a statue on a pedestal.

Headless without any aim.

These questions had brought an identity crisis

which looted him of all his joy.

Shattering his notions and beliefs.

What was he without her?

What significance of his existence,

if he couldn’t make her happy.

The one whose hands did both,

Showered love when needed and

Gave beatings when required.

But there were no five fingers now.

The things left were……

her words and trust,

which would fill the gap between the two.

He was her priced possession.

She was proud of him.

Her life was over now but she

wanted to relive it through him.

Was his life worth to be relived?

Was that lady the one,

whom he had once called mother?

Was this causing deep guilt?

If it was,

he was wrong.

He had failed to prove himself.

With all this said

He put those thoughts aside,

once again fearlessly,

he put it between his lips.

Inhaling the good memories,

which would keep him alive

he exhaled the bad ones and said goodbye.