The Cigarette that burned

The burning white stick sticks to the folds of the fingers of your left hand
While the other one has my arm around it as we stand
On the edge of the bridge, 
That bridges the distance between the separate lands.
I glance sideways, my eyes on the white stick 
Burning in between your lips.
My heart cries, "Smoking Kills"!
You are nonchalant. 
The relief that your lungs feel when the smoke exhales;
The heart trapped between the drugged lungs do not notice
As my fingers loosen the hold on your arm,
Loosen the bond that was once so firm.
Alas! I slowly walk away
And to my dismay
You don't look to your right.
You don't get the drift of the emptiness on your right arm
Because the blazing stick on your left sits so firm.
 

Now I am on the other land

While you are stuck in the middle

Unaware of the choice you made.