Category Archives: Smoke

Smoke by Toby Al-R

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As I sit here to adhere

To the blast of my past

I cuddle my cigarette tip
With my dried lip

Ready to set sail
To my wrecked ship

On a mental trip
Of elusive memories

I slowly climb
To flash backs of time

I wear your face a cloak
As I watch my cigarette smoke

Swaying freely in harmony
With the ticking of a clock

Resembling your body curves
Electrifying my nerves

To see you in the smoke
Holding the heart you broke

I remember and surrender
Hijack me back to the shadows

To the time when you had my heart
Before you ripped it apart

When you stabbed and twisted your dagger
Just to watch me stagger

Just to watch my astonished face
Slowly melt off in grace

We lay side to side
In a sweet genocide

With annihilated dreams
And inner muted screams

Now that you have triggered the gun
And I am far gone

I sit here rocking my chair
Into the smoke I gaze and stare

I see your beautiful face
Vanishing with no trace

I realize if I go back in time
I would still do it all over again

Despite the train of pain
Because behind this masquerade

I secretly hide true love
Enchanted ethereally from above

Because I hold stories
Only crazy mind can believe

Now I invoke the smoke
To swallow me back to you

So I can redeem your corrupted soul
And yet again give you my all

From my body I will sin you
A virtue you will never forget

From my eyes I will shine
A light you can never reflect

From my hands I will rebuild
Our forsaken temple

Where we practiced our rituals
Those once made the ground tremble

Come have a taste of my burning emotion
Come free me from this mental institution

Every time I smoke I see you
And every time I see you I burn

I twist and turn will I ever learn
It’s okay to burn in dire

Cause where there is smoke
You sure bet there is fire.

Smoke by Taiba AlOtaibi

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I was at my grandmother’s house on that sun bleached, washed-out day. It was the day that the women were to wear their black abayas and file into her house in majestic order. They kissed my loved ones and gave blank condolences with such robotic precision, then sat down and watched the tick-tock man tick with their vacant heads and twiddled fingers. Their faces were sallow and lacked make-up, their heads bowed down in depression; it was a shame that I could read their Gucci-filled minds and their Prada obsessed fingers. The smoke from the bokhoor wafted through them, enveloping them in a sleepy, musky haze. Slipping through their noses, it fills their impassive lungs that breath oh so easily. Each of these black creatures tries to outdo the other in showing their grief as their eyes hood over, heavy from the sandman’s touch. Soon they shall file out into the sun, laughing wildly while I sit here to contemplate my own fate as it slips through my fingers and disappear like smoke into the night-sky.

Smoke by Ahmed AlRasheed

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The bedroom door opened and all you can see is the shadow of this delicate creature. Her curves are so defined that you could almost see smoke escaping her pores. There she was unclothed, fine, and precious, walking slowly towards me begging for something. The moonlight trickled from the seeping sky and gleamed off her long velvety hair. Her skin glowed bronze from the bleeding sunlight that shines every morning. When I looked upon her from head to toe, it seems as though her divine legs continue to drift, from her waist to the tip of her toes. The angel approaches me and sits on the side of the bed tempting me to touch her. Her polished back looked like it could be featured in a painting. The angel suddenly turns around and lays down right next to me, so close I could feel her comforting breath. Her lips full and inviting seeking attention to them with a clean quirk of her lips. I look up just in time to be soaked into her mythical almond shaped eyes, so clear and so precise its hard to compare to anything. I put my hand around her, pulling her closer to me, her breasts brushing against my chest. There was this smell, her unique smell, and it was hers alone. And it triggers memories, good memories. She looked at me knowing exactly what i was thinking, she knew my intentions for her were feisty, she comes closer to my ear and whispers, “Not today, I’m tired honey.”

Smoke by Quamer Al-Mumin

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I looked through the bars of his cage as he paced back and forth. His feet echoed like drums against the metal floor. No matter which direction he paced, his eyes were locked on mine. Those deep yellow eyes held a look of determination. His upper lip twitched showing off his sharp canines. The stripes in his fur were drawn on with such elegance, he put Picasso to shame. As I watched him pace, I took out a cigarette and held it to my slightly parted lips. As I did so, I sat on the floor in front of his cage. I looked down at the pocket of my grey hoodie and dug for my lighter. I raised the lighter up to my cig and realized that he had stopped pacing and was now sitting across from me. I paused, cigarette hanging from my mouth, lighter in place, hand over the lighter to block out the wind, my eyes glued to his. His eyes then fell to my cancer stick, nostrils flaring. So I took it out of my mouth and placed it into his from between the bars. I held the lighter up for him and he leaned in holding the tip of the cigarette above the flame. And that day I had shared a much needed smoke with a Siberian Tiger.

Smoke by Eva Al-Meshal

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Life inhaled me

So many millennia ago –

And I have been wandering through this play…

watching the costumes change

with each change of scenery.

These lifetimes pass by on a big flat screen
that I’ve been observing from my seat that sits in stillness.

I have never moved,
but somehow I got so lost and captivated by the movie,
that I started to believe all the movement was real.
Each character is just a reflection of different parts inside of me.

I can’t stop watching;

I can’t stop wondering;

I can’t stop wishing…

That one day life will exhale my soul,

and my Being will dissipate like smoke, back into

the Heart of existence –

where I will realize that it has all been just a beautiful dream,

and that this nirvana I seemed to have been searching for

was always exactly where I am.

Smoke by Glyn Moore

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It was unusual this year because it happened on a Sunday. A Sunday morning too. In November, which is normal. But it always happens on a Saturday afternoon after football. Not on a Sunday morning when I’m playing golf. A Saturday afternoon. In November. When I go to watch football with my friends. We are old now and in the autumn of our years. We drink endless cups of tea, make jokes and laugh at the world because for that moment in our week we are indestructibly young again. We shout our support for our team and our criticisms at the referee. Win, lose or draw we tell each other how much differently we would have played the game, even demonstrating imagined body swerves and light touches of the ball to each other as we shuffle to the car park at the end of the game.

And it’s when I’m driving home, listening to the other football results on the radio that it happens. It’s that time in the afternoon when the sky is going purple and the leafless trees form black shadows on the horizon and birds go about their business in the fading light.

Sometimes I see it in the distance and I push my foot hard on the accelerator to get there faster. Sometimes I don’t see it and it just envelopes me by surprise. This year, it caught me by surprise and on a Sunday morning. Twice the unexpected.

Sunday morning is when I play golf, when we wrap up warm against the cold wind and when Gary tells his jokes and when Stevie Double offers us all a sweet which he always does as we come of the 7th green. And that’s when it happened this year.

Because it was unexpected, it had an unfamiliar feel at first. Then I tasted it. I closed my eyes for a moment. What a moment this is. A moment of remembering all the sights and sounds of lady summer just gone, her power and beauty given up in the fruits and seeds at harvest time.

And now, at last, she falls asleep in the shades of autumn, surrendering herself to the flames and lingering only in the fragrant, sweet smoke from a million garden bonfires.

Smoke by Lucy Moore

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The most unopposed taboo,

a smokescreen practice that affects me and you,
silently it weaves in our peripherals,
trying to dictate how liberal we can be in our literals.

Puppeteered by a few who elect to reject the select subject
some “they” have deemed “suspect”
In an attempt to perfect society,
they forget to respect a level of intellect
that we must not neglect to nurture
if we want freedom for artists to express.

Creatively they address and progress
a cultural dialogue that would otherwise be suppressed.
Bravely they approach the forbidden,
for a short time they have visited the prohibited,
broken down into fragments,
manipulated, annihilated and interrogated their subject
& unregulated they have facilitated a soon-to-be debated exhibit
for those with an open mind to visit.
And as those “educated” stand and imitate, without hesitate,
what the state has instructed them to regurgitate.

They are well rehearsed in feigning an understanding of the symbolised,
too easily they will stigmatise the pieces and
upon not comprehending the artist’s commentary on society
leave in shock.

Undoubtably they will mock and soon unlock the door of the “authoritative” body
to come crawling from their rock.
“They” will call blasphemy and pornography without viewing
the biography of an artist responding to their geography.
“You call this art? This is an insult to your counterparts!”
“They” will choke what “they” perceive as broke before proclaiming:
“You are safe, watch this disgrace go up in smoke!”

For a while “they” will feel they have silenced,
but an artist will always work unlicensed.

Smoke by Berlin

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Just stop.

We both know where this is going.

You don’t need to resort to clichés.

We’re done.

It finally happened.

I get it.

Do not apologize as if it was unexpected.

We were merely waiting for this.

I mean, isn’t this the reason for your awkward laughter each time you hug me a little longer when I leave?

Isn’t this why you suddenly have to be somewhere else when I wake up in your arms and catch you watching me sleep?

Isn’t this the very reason our feelings were caged in our throats?

Do not be sorry.

This is a relief.

At least my eyes can rest from stalking your facebook page for any sign of feelings

At least my mind can rest from guessing what you’re gonna say once my clothes are back on.

At least my heart can rest from anticipating when you will finally figure out this charade.

No.

I do not need to hear this.

Not anymore.

It’s too late to tell me how you feel.

Do not try to mend the pain with words that are of no use to me now.

Do not try to cushion the blow by acting like the feeling had always been mutual.

Do not take away my right to hate you by looking just as hurt…

Cause you’re not.

As I try to rid the taste of you with bitterness and as I cleanse you off my body with tears… you get to move on.

You get to have the girl.

You get to have the family you always wanted.

You get to be the man you dreamed you would be.

You get to have the happiness you believed you could never have with me.

You do not get the right to claim you are hurting just as much.

I was a fool for you.

I was yours eventhough I knew it was always gonna be her… or if not, somebody like her.

I was never an option.

We both knew that.

It didn’t matter that you never laughed as hard with anybody else.

It didn’t matter that our fingers are like puzzle pieces meant to be together.

It didn’t matter that when my lips were on yours, the world felt like it was just as it should be.

Nothing mattered.

I didn’t matter.

I was merely keeping her side of the bed warm.

I was just the blow-up doll you were too ashamed to purchase.

The whore you never needed to pay for.

I was just me.

Stupid and blindly hoping that

maybe if I could spread my legs a little wider I can wrap you around them and make it harder for you to leave.

That maybe if I press your head a little deeper on my chest my heartbeat will convince you to stay.

I foolishly believed that skin and bones and sweat would somehow translate into words that you could understand.

These are just four corners.. four walls… How could you have missed what they meant?

You caused a war within me and logic always lost…

but maybe you leaving will bring order back.

Maybe when all these dust and smoke settles, I will see everything clearly.

Maybe then I can look back and be grateful for the lessons my time with you has taught me.

Maybe I will find peace.

Maybe I will even be lucky enough to find… me.

Smoke by Dee

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That was the first thing you noticed. The City still smoldered. No matter how long it had been since Before, hundreds of years, some even said thousands, the embers of the fires that had destroyed the old world still lived here. The City was a relic of a place that had lived and died so long ago that even its name was lost to time. She had heard it said that once upon a time this place was a center of culture and commerce. Some said that it had lain near a river, others said on an ocean. A few even claimed that it lay near both, which was a notion so ridiculous she had to laugh. It was hard enough to imagine a world were water lay above ground, in bodies so large that they were landmarks with their own names, but to claim that there were so many of them so close together that cities could be built near both was preposterous. No matter people’s flights of fantasy though, this empty scorched ruin was now the center of nothing but desolation.

Sometimes she did wonder though. The world was a different place Before. Before people were split into Sinners and Saints. Before Marks painted themselves on people’s skin and the wrong one could betray you to damnation. Before all the water burrowed down into the earth to escape the evil in people’s hearts.

No one lived in The City now of course. It was a place that made the rest of exile seem safe and cozy, it made the rest of exile seem like 5 Star lodgings in Haven. The City was home to many of the Horrors that had emerged in the Aftermath, the monsters that were the embodiment of the Old World’s wickedness, which were created with its dying breath. Few were stupid or reckless enough to brave its dangers, and even though some of those few had surely returned from it, she had heard of none.

Be that as it may, it was the one place where knowledge live where The Brotherhood wasn’t in control. Legend had it that The City was once home to huge libraries housing thousands upon thousands of books. They were probably all gone now, wiped out but the cataclysm that had destroyed the city itself. But there was still a possibility that she could scavenge something from the wreckage. Some knowledge about the Marks and where the truly came from.

The Brotherhood could claim that the Marks were Divine, a sign from God to finally differentiate between the righteous and the wicked, so that the New World could be built for the good by the good, so that Haven would protect only the truly deserving. But if that were true, if the Marks were the gifts of an infallible Divine Being, how did you explain the handful of Unmarked that appeared every generation? The Brotherhood could deny their existence all they wanted, claim that stories of people who had lived past their 18th year without a Mark appearing on their skin were heresy, but she was living proof that they were lying. Now all she needed was the truth. Its light would shine brightly enough to burn away The Brotherhood’s deceits. It would prove that all their pretense at piety was nothing but smoke and mirrors trying to cloak their main purpose: maintaining their power.

Smoke by Hawra’a Khalfan

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As soon as I opened the car door, the crisp, dry, cold air slapped my face—triggering me to stand frozen in my place. “Thanks!” I forced a smile, waving goodbye to the cab driver as I stood outside the yellow car. Everything around me was covered in white, and at that moment time did not exist. The only thing that existed is the amount of steps it would take for me to walk indoors. Oh! How I love the way the snowflakes sparkle from afar. I locked my eyes on my target as I took a deep breath of callous oxygen. There it is, the blue building filled with an infinite number of Angels of Death. There it is, the blue building filled with sorrow and regret, where loathing and unconditional love finally meet in an equilibrium.

I took my time while making my way to those haunted E.R. doors, trying to prolong the inevitable. Despite the gloomy atmosphere in this building, and every other one of it’s kind, the one thing that reminds me of the desolation that takes place here is the smell. The smell that took over huge chunks of my life, the smell that left holes of worry in my heart, the smell that acts as a cloud of suffocating smoke which enters my lungs and reminds every atom in my body that things will never get any better than this. Finally, I walked into the hospital doors and the smell slapped me harder than the icy wind had. The cold, for that brief moment, was my safe haven from my broken reality. Finally, when I had no reason to enter this blue building any longer, this smell enveloped my whole life and wherever I went, it was in a hue of smoke around me, making it impossible to move on.

The warmth in the hospital hallway had started to make me uneasy and I started considering running back to the welcoming cold. I turned my neck slowly to be able to take in all the faces around me. All of them had the same look in their eyes; they looked as terrified as I felt. All of these people ended up in the same place on the same day at the same time; all of them had something unfortunate happening in their lives. “They were all afraid of being in my shoes,” I whispered to myself. As that thought stormed into my mind like an avalanche, I grew more aware of the mountain of tears that was about to erupt onto my cheeks. I will not cry. I will not give anybody something to look at. I will hold it all back. I. will. not. cry. I started envisioning the same cloud that holds me tight, gripping them as it does me; from every angle. I no longer inhale oxygen as I have given myself fully to my new restraint. The simplest task such as taking another step forward or merely pressing the elevator button vacuumed all of my energy away- I knew what was waiting for me on the other side. I know of the sorrow that awaits; the grief that will soon unveil itself the second I walk into that room. I know the hardship I will have to face; the regret I will feel for the moments I can no longer change.

I know what is to come.

I made my way to the room, taking the smallest steps possible towards the moment I will not forget for the rest of my life. It isn’t true unless I see it. The doctor got a glimpse of me and rushed toward me with her arms ready to hold mine.

“We did everything we could.”

“I know.”

Smoke by Noragotcharisma

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Simplicity will forever be

The ultimate sophistication

Simple, are we?
We wait out the duration

Of life to figure it out
Only to realize
We fake smiles or pout,
To fill in the lies

The lies we so carefully made
Orchestrated
Staged
Frustrated

Losing ourselves to the demands
Evaporating like smoke
Off of cigarettes in hands
Hands of men who provoke

Like a matador in the ring
Waving a flag
At everything
Merely a game of tag,

This is life.

Smoke by Fatma AlSumaiti

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It creeps into compartments of my being.

It never stays.
Residue of what it felt like inflicts excruciating torture.
But it was never really there, was it?
Like smoke it danced within me for moments.
Seconds.
And left as the wind carried it away.

Smoke by Farah Al-Sultan

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Smoke.

Really,what is it,
Are they just exhaled particles,
From inhaled cigarettes,
That later disappear into thin air?
Or,
Are they atoms of the smokers themselves,
Which are exhaled from their souls,
That get lost between other air molecules?
If so,
Then most of the air in this world,
is long lost souls.

Smoke by Merriam AlFuhaid

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My fingers traced the fault line

Down the length of your neck and back

The place it had taken me weeks and months to find

The answers, the truth: all of it inside.

Then you broke open

Revealing what I once held was nothing but an urn

Full of ashes

And burned, charred pieces of the heart I’d hoped could love.

Smoke

Curls up from the fuse

You’ve lit on the end of your life

A life that’s now

Five minutes shorter.

I pretend it’s not attractive to me

I pretend I cannot see

That your face was made to be the perfect time bomb

Placed to detonate inside my chest

With a mushroom cloud to topple down

All my safety nets.

I used to think it was a glimmering fog around you

But it dispersed

Leaving just a smokescreen that surrounded you

Fueled by a thousand packs

I could never breathe the truth behind.

An aura of mystery, I would lie

So it’s all right if he has another light

And makes his life

Ten minutes shorter.

You said this was just how you were made.

You said nothing was worth it anyway

Optimism was just a phase I had to pass through

And I didn’t stop to ask you

What the hell does that even mean?

In all your poetic metaphors you couldn’t just say

That the answer to your riddle was death

And that’s all it ever was

That’s all you’ll ever mean

And why is it that you can’t see

That all your life will ever be is

Fifteen minutes shorter?

But I didn’t really see

Not until I heard what you whispered to yourself

You breathed in, puffed out, and said:

“Five minutes sooner.”

Keep running to her.

I’m sure Death will meet you halfway.

You’ll just have to wait for her to take

Each defeatist in her line

Everyone who likes to take their time

When committing suicide

You are not unique, just one of many in the queue

Waiting till it ends.

But it will

And so will you

Ten minutes sooner.

You can’t bring up

Someone who wants to be taken down

So I’m not playing mother any longer.

I pick darkness over

That shining candle of devotion

You lit with the flick of a gas lighter

As you led me to your altar

To wait inside a bar-less cell

Till the last piece of wax melts

And the flame and you both lose your life

Leaving just two wisps of smoke behind

Fifteen minutes sooner.

I think I could stand there forever.

Or

My heart will wake up before the blackout

Stop beating out the countdown

Then spit out my final goodbye

Because you will not tell me how to live

When all you do is die

No, not one second longer

Because you and I are

Five minutes over.

Smoke by Batool Hasan

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“Please, make the pain stop. I can’t take another breath of this anymore.” Her raspy voice cracks as she gulps air between her words.

I stare at the morphine syringe between my gloved fingers.

Don’t make eye contact; it’s easier that way.

The brightness of my white nursing uniform contrasts harshly with the dirty floor. Temptation races through my veins, and I lift my eyes to look at her wrinkled face bursting with exhaustion as she lies limply on the hospital bed. Thin strands of grey hair lay sprawled on her pillow like puffs of smoke framing her face.

I try to comfort her, “It’s okay; I’m going to make it stop. You won’t feel anything soon.”

I take a step closer and gently hold back the fabric covering her collarbones. Raising the syringe, I aim at the Subclavian vein. The shiny liquid enters her bloodstream as it empties from the syringe.

‘’Just try to breathe slowly, it’s over now.”

I remove the syringe and take a step back as Death takes one closer. I rush outside while stuffing the evidence in my pocket.

Don’t fear the Reaper.

Smoke by Osman Naeem

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On the sidewalk that I walk on with a walkman on

The smell of the rain, the vapors from this cup of tea coating the walls of my oesophagus

With my head low, I see the remains of what left some high before on the floor below

And took a few to another dimension but closed many doors
Uneven pulse rates causing frequent visits to Dr.Stethoscope
I pick up this blunt off the ground and reach for my lighter as curiosity provokes
And with the roll of my thumb, I hear a man whisper into my mind
It gets colder as the sun sets, and my breath forms a face infront of my eyes
This voice said things to me, who knows, maybe it was just a schizophrenic’s mental tendency
“Don’t walk away, I am you, but unlike you I’m not your enemy”

Even though my lips and lungs turn black, from the painful Asthma attacks
I lust for more with every puff, the smoke lets my demons escape into the ash tray
The smokeless flame inside me desires more for this smoke
As my heartbeat elevates and my soul levitates
The THC medicates with inner peace for all the seven days
As I cease to be separate with the whole world, I’m beyond the second base
With a vision blurred by the rose tinted ink from the purple haze
A dozen different Rorschach patterns appear, everytime I blink
Looking in the mirror before I leave as an epitome of despicable
I see a rebel on a different level plane, downtrodden but upbeat
Overlooking the underlying issues walking down this puddled street
This Marijuana smog makes me feel like a misguided ghost
A recluse let loose with internal flesh wounds
Walking out of this through the society of sobriety
On the psycho-path, trying to heal by inhaling this nicotine
But this will be my one last cigarette
I’m tired of dying over and over again
I don’t need to suffer, there’s much better things to gain
Nothing hurts as much as the pain of staying the same
Remember, when it’s all done, there’s no one but yourself left to blame

That’s what it said to me before I tripped on my own shoelaces
With my head high, looking into the grey sky
I snap this cynical little cylinder into two
Shades of brown and green powder ricochet off the floor below
And as I step past the past, the rain becomes a better metronome

Smoke by Dina Al-Awadhi

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Legends seeped in myths

Seeped in legends:

The Dragon’s Hoard

Shining silver, gold, and bronze

Glittering emeralds, sapphires, and rubies

Stacked up higher, higher, higher

The luxuries of kings, great emperors, and divine pharaohs long forgotten

Cluttering coins and rusting crowns

Goblets, pearls, maps, and amulets

Velvety carpets, lush animal skins

Glinting swords and a grand scepter surrounding a branching tree of solid gold

And then

A tail

Long and thick and scaly

Fumbling step backward

A resounding

echo

echo

echo

through the twisting and wandering chambers

of dark ember

A large, sharp, glinting emerald gem opens

All knowing and eternal

Reptilian, overwhelming, magnificent

Paralyzing:

The Dragon’s eye

Nostrils flare

Exhaling billowing smoke

Smoke rising, curling,

Swelling and washing over me

Me:

Wretched Knight in Shining Armor

Fortified head to toe

Drenched in cold beads of sweat

Courageous, proud, and oh so foolish

My gaunt, petrified face hidden by steel

The emerald eye encompasses my world

And that

is the

last

thing

I