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Our lips acted like

bolted gates

that would never

let the words

‘stop puffing like an engine, Baba’,


My father’s luxury floated

in smoke rings.

Moradabadi* brass ashtray

would fill up.

He would chain smoke

the opponents of Indian cricket team

into pavilion.

Yet he would never sin

with any glowing tip

when Gavaskar, Tendulkar or Sourav

was batting.

The ashtray still remains.


*Moradabad is an Indian city famous for brass handicraft industry

Posted for Susan’s Midweek Motif ~ Smoking Tobacco @ Poets United



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I open the wrap

of dawn’s matins slowly

breathing a soft prayer

to the unseen sender

every day.

I open with my trembling hands

the darkest envelop

to find stars inside.

I thank the unknown sender softly

every night.





Posted for dVerse Poetics ~ Wrap it in Ribbons Please! Hosted by Lilian