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Aug 02, 2017 at 07:34

I can’t step out
look at my poor plight
The dust grabs my neck hard
and the smoke threatens me everyday, every night.

Forget about the stars; I can’t
even see my sky.
It’s shameful how this air
filters my cry.
Filters my prayers, destined to
reach the god (if any) up there;
Then how will He, into our
problems pry?

Am I at fault? For thinking that
breathing is an involuntary action?
For today, my efforts are being half wasted in sucking in some air for my survival. Tell me;
Is this the result of my benefaction?

The atmosphere, an apt reflection of my soul, polluted.
Living through an air like this,
Tell me, who needs a choker?
And if you trust ME and not my LUNGS today;
I’ll tell you (hard to believe though)
I really ain’t no chain smoker.

Even my thoughts find it hard
to escape my mind
Living inside a gas chamber
It’s become tougher to think.
My brain feels tied and tired.
From health to humanity,
Are all on survival’s brink.

My future today, is but blur.
I cough more than I breathe;
As this Diwali, Delhi puts on a smoky attire.
And I realise that I should’ve understood
by the heavy, loud sounds
that they’re not crackers,
but an open fire.

This is my desultory, a
self- constructed mess
Who knew that I would die like this? Wrapped up in my own air’s suffocation.
Unable to progress;
Weighed down under my own transgress?

And if anyone can,
It is I who can save ME;
From this smoke in surplus,
From this dark & dreadful dust
and from my fading existence, thus.

Kuhu Nagpal