Wine and Cigar

I remember I sat on a chair,

with a glass of wine in a hand,

cigar in other.

Observing people as they loose their mind

and bodies to the music, to the night.

When he walked between the crowd of sane people,

haa unlike me,

offered me champagne followed by 2 shots of martini

We discussed lives and opinions

He came to know my hatred for love.

And offered me a relation covered with lust.

So words turned into kisses in the start.

And conversations to arguments towards the end.

He can’t be sweet and loving at times

And ignorant and dominating the very next moment.

He can’t fuck my emotions,

Because emotions are out of his domain.

He didn’t have to be judgemental.

He should have not talk about love

Because it is all lust that he enjoyed.

He was not allowed to fake things

Because faking in a fake thing, turns the table real.

Like 2 negatives lead to one positive.

The complexity that his lies have created is so tangled that,

If I get into the reach of my heart,

I can feel no love, no sympathy, no passion

But, just fake words, tears and smiles.

The mark he left on my neck,

love bite as people say,

felt as I was stamped with his reign.

It was supposed to be a very simple concept

Only a body game, no heart no brain.

He made it go all wrong.

Those cheesy lines were not needed.

Those references, calling me yours,

my lady were good but not necessary.

Just simple talks and meetings could have made everything go well.


He made my heart involved in something, it never wanted to.

He made me convert my lust into love, then,

Which ended everything with a glass of wine and cigar,

Sitting and waiting for someone to love again.

When I performed the same poem.

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