Phone, in the left hand,
And a smoke in the right.
Having a conversation with someone,
In the middle of a night.
No peace, even when we’re at home,
‘Cause, In order to live,
Every day, we’ve got to win a fight.
For the wounds that we get every day,
Family and their love,
They work as patches.
Maybe, just like that lit smoke,
Our life is, slowly, burning down to ashes.
-Abhishek Gupta