By Nusrat Jahan
Love was like the last cigarette.
It made life a living dream.
I was on a high, savouring every moment.
My house became a bubble, full of smog.
The cigarette turned small as it burned.
It burned my love and my sentiments.
I realised I was in a one-sided relationship while dusting the ash.
I came across various cigarettes, but amongst all, you were my favourite - my double switch.
Days and nights disappeared into thin air like smoke.
All I was left with were cigarette remnants, and reminiscent of the past.
I told myself this was my last cigarette.
So should I leave the cigarette burning midway or finish it?
Will this be my last cigarette or the beginning of a new one?
By Nusrat Jahan
I take out special time to read each of your writings. Every word, every line of your writing teaches something or the other.
Your poem beautifully captures the essence of love through the metaphor of a cigarette. The comparison between love and the last cigarette is poignant, creating a vivid image of highs and lows. The line "My house became a bubble, full of smog" is particularly evocative, conveying the intensity and confinement of emotions.
Lastly, your poem is thought-provoking and emotionally resonant, exploring the complexities of love in a unique and relatable way.
It sure does remind you of your first love or should i say one sided love. 👀