ADDICTION

cigarettes wine and the metaphorical call of weed 
I have always dreamt of evenings like this 
when we sit in a circle and indulge ourselves in narcotic games of fanaticism and hunger 
with the city busy surveying the bleeding chambers of reality by now 
I find my poems somewhere hidden inside the delicate corridors of these ignited leaves 
dusty lines riding the dark horses of pain and betrayal in my mind 
the evening rolls on 
slowly… 

and the dictator gifts me the September song 
strumming his guitar 
tempting me to hallucinate 

all evening 
I wait here 

her eyes floating in my mind 

her words racing 
with the drug stained 
arms of stolen time 

how could I not slay her then 
in the nightmares 
reminding me of forsaken desires? 


how could I not spell out 
the curse that I had so well rehearsed for her? 

O! I cannot bear these revolving thoughts anymore 

let me sleep now, 
and find this city hanging in mid air 
remembering the good times 

for they , 
sometimes , 
do make me happy.