Opium Haze


Underneath the open sky
Studded black with stars up high
Stretched out in an open field
Two fingers approach my lips;
A contemplative look.
Sleep leaden eyes
Urge the first long drag:
I’m smoking pot.
Because I’m a student
And this is what students do.
A slow exhale
As rings fly
And tendrils creep
Assailing my nose
With the woody smell
Of Education.
“It’s a student thing.
It’s what students do”

Lying in an open field
I smoke pot.
It’s a dream,
A curious
An image
That covets me
“Rise, like me,
Come fly,
It’s the food of youthful polity”

And remains
Coveting me.
It’s always
A different reality.

Koyel Lahiri

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