Beneath the twilight’s tender glow, a cigarette ignites,
A flicker of rebellion, a spark against the night.
It whispers tales of solace, in swirls of silver haze,
Each inhale a secret, in a silent, smoky daze.

The ember glows like sentinels, in the quiet of the dark,
A fleeting kind of comfort, an ephemeral mark.
With every breath, a lifetime, with every sigh, a dream,
The dance of shadows lingers, in the cigarette’s soft gleam.

Through the veil of memory, it etches lines unseen,
A narrative of longing, in the spaces in-between.
The smoke ascends to heavens, dissolving into night,
A transient existence, in the flickering light.

And as the ashes settle, to earth they gently fall,
A whisper of the moment, a story told in thrall.
The cigarette extinguished, yet echoes still remain,
In the heart of the beholder, a trace of whispered pain.