In the dim glow of twilight’s embrace,
A cigarette whispers in the shadows,
Its smoke spirals with a fleeting grace,
Carrying tales that nobody knows.

The ember glows, a fiery thread,
Inhale the dreams it softly weaves,
Yet in its wake, the silence spreads,
As breath and smoke become deceived.

The whispers rise in curling plumes,
A ghostly dance upon the air,
In every puff, a life consumes,
A fragile hope, a fleeting prayer.

In the ashes, stories remain,
Flickering within the dusk,
A cigarette’s soft, smoky refrain,
Lingering long after the husk.