Smoke withered away from sand the other day
from a wasted cigarette butt.
The stick was living its last breath,
Living as much it could, as much it must...
Smoke flew towards the right,
Slowly waking up from the sand
It crawled a bit in circles
And then flew up the land.
Little symbols of life-
Just living, Just gone away
glimpse at us from time to time,
Like that cigarette butt breathing its last day...
- Gauri Gharpure
