Houdini would be jealous
Of how better an escapist I am,
When the letters ‘Marlboro’ part my lips;
Of how I can disappear into myself.
The crisp current of Coonoor breeze seems fowl
When pit against the yellow tar, the coarse air.
My trachea isn’t as forgiving
As I am to myself when I let
The acrid breath of worry out my mouth.
The flame to the fuse
Is rather the flame to diffuse.
The first few puffs are like the comfort
You would find in a consulting room
Problems diminish while they remain
As belittling as what’s left of the ember
Holding on helplessly knowing that I will let it go.
The best cup of tea is nauseatingly unsavoury;
I reflect on the disappointment of my taste buds.
Upon that reflection doubt sets in.
The smoldering ash is closing in on me;
The world around me scales back down.
I’m ensnared again in the room of revitalizing air,
The delicate ribbons swirling around me
Try their best to fight this entrapment.
Their ability to dissolve, I envy;
I become a blacksmith without a furnace.
And the ash recovers and reintegrates,
In the form of another cigarette
That part my lips again.