Home | Hindi | Kabir | Poetry | Workshop | BoloKids | Writers | Contribute | Search | Contact | Share This Page                       Shop Online

Poetry New | A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | J | K | L | M | N | O | P | Q | R | S | T | U | V | W | X | Y | Z             Submit a Poem

Editor's Choice of the Week | Poetry Knowledge Zone | Poet of the Week | Themes | Articles /Interviews

Channels
In Focus

Analysis  
Bolography  
Cartoons
Environment   
Opinion 

Columns
 My Word 
 PlainSpeak 
 Random Thoughts 
Our Heritage

Architecture
Astrology
Ayurveda
Buddhism
Cinema 
Culture
Dances 
Festivals
Hinduism
History  
People  
Places 
Sikhism
Spirituality 
Vastu 
Vithika  

Society & Lifestyle

Family Matters 
Health
Parenting
Perspective 
Recipes
Society
Teens 
Women 

Creative Writings

Book Reviews
Ghalib's Corner
Humor
Individuality
Jagoji
Literary Shelf 
Love Letters  
Memoirs
Musings
Ramblings
Stories
Travelogues

Computing
  General Articles
  CC++ 
  Flash 
  Internet Security 
  Java 
  Linux     
  Networking  
Advertisement
 Boloji Prepaid
 International
 Calling Cards

Nicotine Patch

The twilight of the night is obscure,
Compared to the flame within my soul
Alive like a black fire, 
Incarcerating my every organ.

My heart bounce, bounces like a basketball
Slam dunk into the depths of despair.
My skull pounds, pounding
Screams I’m unable to control.
My throat burns, burning,
The flesh ripped to a shred.
Whispers, louder than my convictions,
Oh, how I wish to stop,
These vibrations in my head.
My breath, mesmerizing movements 
Twists into the air like dancing angels
So where are my guardians?

As I flick the ash from my cigarette,
Oh, how I loathe the disgusting habit,
I ask myself,
‘Where is my nicotine patch?’
That’s the way life seems to be…
Surely everyone needs support?

Alone my heart bounces,
My skull pounds,
My throats burns,
Movement continues within my head 
And yet I cannot voice the question,
‘Is my guardian dead?’

The cigarette now stamped out,
The ash no longer burns,
But my arm remains patch-less,
The lesson remains unlearnt.
Suddenly the night is bright with twilight,
And the obscurity dwindles away,
Whispers become cries, screams,
And I drown in a sea of my own tears.
‘Oh, please dear guardian stay!’

– Alana Meakings
December 2, 2001

 

 
Analysis | Architecture | Astrology | Ayurveda | Book Reviews | Buddhism | Cartoons | Cinema | Computing | Culture | Dances
Environment | Fables | Family Matters | Festivals | Hinduism | Health | History | Home Remedies | Humor | Individuality | Jagoji
Literary Shelf | Memoirs | Musings | Opinion | Parenting | Perspective | Photo Essays | Places | Ramblings
Random Thoughts | Recipes | Sikhism | Society | Spirituality | Stories | Teens | Travelogues | Vastu | Vithika | Women

Home | Bolography | BoloKids | Hindi | Kabir | Poetry | Quotes | Workshop | Writers | Contribute | Search | Contact


Boloji.com is owned and managed by Boloji Media Inc
Privacy Policy | Disclaimer
No part of this Internet site may be reproduced without prior written permission of the copyright holder.