Your Problems

You keep smoking your problems,
Like some beast to burn, to learn.
Killing is an art too proud,
Hastening the arrival of death.
My astonishment happened everywhere
When starting a dangerous role.
The kill was being performed from nowhere,
Surprising us still with its meek manner,
Lunch is being served, with ferocity.
May the smoking be condemned
In hats and coats, inside the house as well.
This is the house of every death.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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